


Butterfly

by benwisehart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Canon-Typical Inter-House Rivalries, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Neville is also friends with the Hufflepuffs, POV Neville Longbottom, Sirius Black Raises Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23487130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benwisehart/pseuds/benwisehart
Summary: In which Voldemort makes a different choice, a lot of things change, and some things stay the same.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	1. The Hogwarts Express

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I've been wanting to write for a while. I know there are a lot of others like it out there, but I hope you'll enjoy my take on this AU. I've had a lot of fun writing it. 
> 
> Title comes from the butterfly effect

**_BOY WHO LIVED TO START HOGWARTS AT LAST_ ** **_  
_** by Rita Skeeter

 _The_ Daily Prophet _can finally settle rumours that eleven-year-old Neville Longbottom will at long last be starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Well known for his role as the “Boy Who Lived” in the downfall of He Who Must Not Be Named, Longbottom’s relatives have long since made a point of keeping him out of the public eye. Some wizards have even speculated that the boy might not be a wizard at all. While always vehement in their denial of the boy’s status as a Squib, it cannot be denied that his family have kept him very close these past ten years._

_Neville is the son of noted Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, who tragically lost their lives in defiance of You-Know-Who on the 31st of October, 1981, leaving their son as the only known person ever to have survived the Killing Curse. Neville has since been in the custody of his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, who declined our requests for questioning._

_“My grandson’s life is not a carnival show for the public to enjoy at their leisure!” states Mrs. Longbottom, along with several other choice words that the_ Prophet _will not be repeating._

_However, our sources can confirm that young Neville and his grandmother were seen in Diagon Alley just days before the new school year was due to start—and shopping for Hogwarts school supplies, no less!_

_I believe we at the_ Daily Prophet _can speak for everyone when we say that we cannot wait to see what the new school year brings for young Neville and his long-awaited return to public life._

“Neville, I’ve told you to stop reading that!” said Augusta Longbottom sternly, causing her grandson to flush red and hastily stuff the _Daily Prophet_ article back into his pocket. “Really! You’d think they had never seen a child go to school before. Those gossip hounds have absolutely nothing better to do.”

“Mm,” Neville mumbled in agreement, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground as they made their way through King’s Cross Station. Despite that Skeeter woman’s insistence that he had been hidden from the public all his life, he’d still had more than enough time to grow accustomed to people staring. There was not a wizard alive in Britain who did not know his name, and amongst Muggles, well—it was hard to keep a low profile with his Gran around. Her imposing presence would have been enough to make heads turn even if she _didn’t_ walk around wearing a large stuffed vulture on top of her hat. 

The station was busy. Neville spotted a few more families pushing trolleys that were clearly bound for the Hogwarts Express. Thankfully, nobody seemed to have noticed him yet. 

Despite the _Prophet_ article playing on his nerves, Neville could not deny that he was at least looking forward to starting at Hogwarts. It would be the first time in his life he’d be able to do anything without his Gran breathing down his neck, although he’d already accepted that his grades were going to be abysmal—the few spells he had thus far attempted with his father’s old wand had barely managed to produce a couple of sparks. 

It wasn’t until they had finally passed through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters that Augusta stopped to look over Neville. 

“You mustn’t let them treat you differently,” she said at last. The platform was cloudy with steam from the Hogwarts Express, but there was no mistaking the look of worry that suddenly crossed her face for the first time since they arrived.

Neville sincerely doubted his ability to influence anyone’s treatment of him one way or the other, but he gave a weak nod, hoping his face wasn’t as green as it felt. “I won’t, Gran.”

“Have you got Trevor?”

Neville withdrew a large struggling toad from within his pocket. “Yeah. He’s fine, Gran.”

“You must write to me if they give you a hard time.”

“I will,” Neville mumbled, although he already knew he would do nothing of the sort. The last thing he wanted was for her to suddenly decide he was better off being homeschooled. 

They exchanged goodbyes on the platform; Augusta bent to kiss Neville’s cheek before he picked up his luggage from the trolley. It was only when he was finally hauling the oversized trunk onto the bright red steam engine and it was pulling away from the station that he allowed himself to accept that this was really happening; he was actually going to Hogwarts. 

The relief was short-lived, however; no sooner had Neville entered the corridor between the compartments than a large trunk belonging to another student had knocked him square in the back, causing him to lurch forward. He managed to avoid falling flat on his face by dropping his trunk and bracing himself against the wall, but to Neville’s horror, he lost his grip on Trevor, sending the toad dropping to the floor.

“Come on, we need to find a compartment before they all—oh, sorry!” exclaimed the student who had bumped him, an older girl whom Neville didn’t recognise. He wasn’t really paying attention; he was desperately trying to keep track of Trevor, who was quickly hopping away into the throng of students bustling through the corridor. 

“‘S alright,” Neville mumbled, abandoning his trunk and squeezing into the waiting corridor, pushing in between the other students. “Sorry—excuse me, I dropped my—”

“Blimey, is that who I think it is?” said one voice, causing Neville to freeze in the middle of bending down to pick up Trevor. The aforementioned toad took advantage of the distraction to disappear again. 

“It is, it’s Neville Longbottom!”

By this point, the crowd had ceased bustling and everyone was clamoring to get a look at him. 

“Can’t believe I get to go to school with the Boy Who Lived!”

“Is it true you’re a Squib?”

“You can sit in our compartment if you want, Neville!”

“Er,” Neville said, “Sorry, I just want to grab my toad, can anyone see him?” Unpopular as toads were, Neville had always been rather fond of Trevor, who had been a gift from his Gran. The last thing he wanted was for him to get squashed on their first day at Hogwarts. 

The news that Neville Longbottom was looking for a toad spread quickly through the cabin, although Neville was sure he heard at least one student say, “ew, he’s got a _toad_ ?” Despite this, nobody seemed to have the slightest interest in helping him search. Neville found himself buffeted from student to student. He was just about to give up hope when a loud, bossy sort of voice from beside him shouted, “Oh, for goodness sake, leave the poor boy _alone_! Neville, come in here…”

Neville was suddenly being pulled through a door to his right, from which the voice had originated. Suddenly free of the throng of students, Neville found himself standing in the middle of a compartment while his rescuer slammed the door shut again. From behind, Neville could see a mass of bushy brown hair as the girl tapped the compartment door with her wand and said, “ _Colloportus_.”

The girl whipped around again and, in a voice that would have given even Augusta Longbottom a moment of pause, huffed, “Really! Don’t they have anything better they could be doing?”

Now that he’d had a moment to get his bearings, Neville could see that the girl was another first year. The compartment was full of students around their own age as well; they were all staring at Neville with a slightly awed expression (Neville caught a few glances up at the scar on his forehead), but thankfully nobody tried interrogating him. It looked like they had all made the collective decision to rescue him before the first girl stepped out. 

Feeling self-conscious again, Neville shuffled his feet. “Erm, thanks, but—my trunk’s still out there, and my toad—”

The bushy-haired girl looked sympathetic. “You won’t find him out there in that,” she said, sitting down next to a pair of twin girls with black hair. “Why don’t we wait until things settle down, and then I’ll help you look for him?” she suggested.

“Oh, well, um, thank you.” Unable to deny her logic, Neville sat down next to a pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails. “I’m Neville,” he added awkwardly, like that wasn’t obvious.

The crowd of students outside the compartment started to clear away while the other first years introduced themselves. Neville learned that the first girl’s name was Hermione Granger, and the other students were named Hannah, Susan, Parvati, Padma, Lavender, Justin and Ernie. Neville’s head was spinning by the end, knowing he was terrible with names but not wanting to forget them all before they’d even reached Hogwarts. 

“Have you tried doing any magic yet?” Hermione asked excitedly. “I haven’t had much time to practice of course, since you’re not allowed to do magic until you get to Hogwarts and my parents are Muggles, so if I tried doing spells at home the Ministry would have known it was me, but I did try a few spells while we were waiting on the train just now. I’ve read all the textbooks, too, so I think I have a pretty solid basis for all the theory. I can’t wait to start our actual classes, though. What are you most looking forward to starting? I want to learn Charms, they’re so useful.”

“Er—” This was the part Neville was dreading the most dreading. 

He’d always been rubbish at magic; there was a reason the _Daily Prophet_ had been casting doubt on his status as a wizard for most of his life.

In many ways, though, Neville would have preferred to be a Squib. It’d be a lot better than the truth. The real reason his family had known he couldn’t be a Squib when he was younger was something that no paper would ever know; Neville could talk to snakes.

They’d discovered it when he was just five years old and stepped on a grass snake while playing in the garden. Speaking Parseltongue was a skill that only those with magic could possess, but unfortunately for Neville, it was associated heavily with the Dark Arts. His relatives had been horrified when they found out; even Augusta was shaken. Uncle Algie had become convinced that Neville was not really Frank and Alice’s son, but that Voldemort had killed the real Neville Longbottom and replaced him with an imposter—perhaps even Voldemort’s own brood!—on the night he killed Neville’s parents. 

Augusta had been so furious at this suggestion that she had not spoken to him since, but the idea had been planted in their minds all the same. And so they had done little to stifle the rumours that the Boy Who Lived was a child without magic—surely that would be less shameful than being a Parselmouth. 

Hermione was still looking at him expectantly. 

“Um, well, my Gran wants me to study Transfiguration,” Neville said.

“I’ve heard a lot about Herbology,” Hannah added. “You know, studying magical plants and fungi.”

Neville liked the sound of that; plants were a lot easier to get along with than people. 

The train’s surroundings had finally changed from the stark buildings of London to lush green countryside. Neville was about to suggest going out again to fetch his trunk and look for Trevor, when they heard a knock on the compartment door and all heads turned toward it.

A third year girl was attempting to open the door, hindered by Hermione’s Locking Charm. Hermione promptly got up and opened the door a crack. “Hello?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Hi! Is it true Neville Longbottom’s in this carriage?”

Hermione almost shut the door again. “Yes, but if you’re just here to gawk—”

“No!” the girl said hurriedly. “I’m supposed to give him this letter,” she explained, passing a sealed roll of parchment through the door. 

Hermione took it with a frown. 

Neville turned it over in his hands once she had handed it to him. “What do you suppose it is?” he asked, breaking the seal and unrolling it. 

_Dear Mr Longbottom_

_Welcome to your first year at Hogwarts!_ _  
__I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._

_Sincerely, Professor H.E.F. Slughorn_

“Who’s Professor Slughorn?” Neville asked, feeling a bit stupid. 

“Oh, I know!” Susan said. “Wow, I thought he’d be retired by now. Professor Slughorn is the Potions Master at Hogwarts. He has this...sort of club, made up of students that he thinks are going to be successful later in life. He’s very well connected; the Slug Club’s meant to be great for your future career, if you can get in. Half the Ministry was in it at some point. My aunt knows him.”

“No guesses why he wants Neville!” said Hermione irritably. 

Neville couldn’t help but agree with her. The last thing he wanted in his first year at Hogwarts was _more_ attention. To say nothing of the fact that Slughorn was going to be pretty let-down when he learned that an enchanted beach towel could probably brew better potions than the famous Neville Longbottom. “I’d probably save him a lot of disappointment if I just didn’t go,” he said glumly. 

“Don’t say that,” Susan said kindly. “You’re a first-year, he’s not going to expect you to start transmuting gold. He probably just wants an excuse to meet you; he doesn’t normally invite first-years. It did cause a lot of excitement when the _Prophet_ said you were coming to Hogwarts.”

“He _is_ still a teacher,” Hermione admitted. “You’d better go, Neville. Hopefully it won’t take too long. I’ll look for your toad, and then you can meet up with us at the station.”

And so Neville found himself making his way down to the very front of the train. Luckily everyone had settled into their seats and lunch hadn’t quite started yet, so he was uninterrupted on his way to compartment C. It was already close to full when he slid the door open.

Professor Slughorn was a large, balding man with a very large moustache, seated opposite the door. He jumped up immediately upon spotting Neville, coming over and clasping his hand. 

“Gracious, it really is Neville Longbottom, as I live and breathe! Come in, my boy, come in and have a seat.”

Neville glanced at the other invitees. Most of them were older students who were staring at him with interest. Then to Neville’s relief he spotted another first year; a skinny-looking boy with messy black hair and glasses. Neville almost didn’t see him, because he was leaning back into the corner nearest the door and looking like he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. Luckily he seemed to recognise Neville as a kindred spirit, because he quickly shuffled aside to make room. Neville took the spot gratefully.

Slughorn settled back down in his seat. “I’m delighted to meet you, Neville, simply delighted. I taught both your parents, you know, back when they were at Hogwarts. Incredibly gifted Aurors, the pair of them. I was so sorry when I heard what happened.”

“Well, er, so was I,” Neville said lamely. The boy next to him made a face that was something between a smile and a cringe. 

Slughorn barely acknowledged what Neville had said. “I thought I’d take this chance to introduce myself before the term starts, get to know you a bit better. Professor Horace Slughorn, at your service,” he said, giving a little bow in his seat. “I’ll be teaching you Potions while you’re at Hogwarts. Ah, and I suppose you haven’t met many of your classmates yet. What about Harry here?” he asked, turning his attention suddenly to the messy-haired boy. “He’s in your year.”

Harry gave an uncomfortable wave.

“I was just telling Harry that his mother was the best in her year while she was at Hogwarts,” Slughorn continued. “Even more impressive considering that she was Muggle-born.”

From Slughorn’s expression it was obvious that he considered this to be a great compliment. Harry, however, looked like he was seriously considering diving out the train window. “Yeah,” he said. 

Slughorn’s face softened. “It was such a terrible tragedy, what happened to her. She was truly the brightest witch of her generation.”

“She still is,” mumbled Harry. 

From there, Slughorn brought the conversation back around to Neville, which proved to be the most uncomfortable ten minutes of his life. He didn’t know what they expected of him—that he had been keeping the secret of his survival hidden all this time and was just waiting for the right person to tell it to? 

At the very least, Professor Slughorn was good at keeping a conversation going despite very little input from whoever he was speaking to, so Neville didn’t have to say much to keep him happy. After that, he and Harry were introduced to some of the older students while Slughorn handed out plates of roast pheasant. Most of the members had a famous relative of some kind. Others were just exceptionally gifted students. 

Neville was picking lamely at his pheasant when Harry suddenly leaned in close, addressing him directly for the first time since he arrived. “Hey. Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.

Neville glanced at Slughorn, who was deep in conversation with a sixth-year Ravenclaw girl about the recent break-in at Gringotts. “Are we allowed to leave?” he asked. 

Taking this as an affirmative, Harry grinned. “Just wait for my signal,” he said, and then flashed a thumbs up in the direction of the compartment door. Neville followed his gaze just in time to see a pair of redheaded twins give a thumbs up in return and then disappear from sight. 

Sure enough, moments later there came a very loud noise from the corridor that sounded suspiciously like an explosion, followed by a rancid smell. All conversation in compartment C immediately ceased as Professor Slughorn leapt to his feet. 

“Ah,” he said, hurrying to the doorway and opening it. The smell immediately became ten times worse. “Good grief, somebody’s been setting off Dungbombs in the corridors again. If you’ll excuse me, it looks like we’ll have to put this little get-together on hold. I’ll see you all in class!” he called and then, eyes twinkling at Neville and Harry, added, “Hope to see you both in Slytherin House, boys!” Then he rushed out the door. 

Harry made a retching motion that had nothing to do with the Dungbombs before grabbing Neville’s wrist and pulling him toward the door. Just as they were passing through it, however, Harry pulled something light and silvery from within his robes and threw it over himself and Neville. 

Neville had to stifle a gasp as he saw their reflections disappear from the compartment window. Hunched under the cloak—the Invisibility Cloak, as Neville now realised—Harry grinned at him. “Shh,” he said, pressing a finger to his lips and leading them back down the corridor and past Slughorn.

They did not go back to where Hermione had been. Instead, Harry led them into another compartment only a few doors down from Slughorn’s. Its only other occupant was another first-year; a gangly redheaded boy with a lot of freckles. He looked up when the door opened, but did not look surprised that it closed again without seeming to admit anyone. “How’d it go with Slughorn, then?” he asked.

“Bit of a tosser, really,” Harry said, slipping out from under the cloak and leaving Neville invisible. 

The other boy snorted. “No wonder Percy wants to get in his club so bad,” he said, stretching. 

“Wait just a second,” Harry said before Neville could take the cloak off. He watched as Harry ran over to the other end of the cabin and hefted a cage containing a beautiful snowy owl, moving it to the seat nearest the door and then stepping back to assess it thoughtfully. Then he fetched his own trunk and moved it underneath the owl, who hooted in annoyance. “Alright, I don’t reckon anyone will see you from the door if you sit next to Hedwig,” Harry said, sounding pleased. 

The redhead had a bewildered expression, but it quickly turned to understanding and then surprise when Neville took off the Invisibility Cloak. 

“Ron, this is Neville Longbottom,” Harry said excitedly, taking the cloak back and bundling it up.

“Blimey!” Ron said, eyes flicking unmistakably up to Neville’s scar. “Only I thought you’d be taller. I’m Ron Weasley.”

“You should have heard the way Slughorn was talking about him,” Harry said distastefully. Neville wondered if Harry would be quite so annoyed on his behalf if Slughorn hadn’t mentioned Harry’s mother. “That was a good idea, asking Fred and George to check whether I needed an escape route.”

“I thought I smelled Dungbombs,” Ron said, waving the air in front of his nose.

Harry took out a napkin and unwrapped it to reveal several pieces of pheasant he had stolen from Slughorn’s compartment. He deposited them into Hedwig’s cage before going to sit down next to Ron.

“So,” Harry said, suddenly at a loss for words. “Er—”

“D’you remember what You-Know-Who looks like?” Ron blurted out, causing Harry to rather noticeably stomp on his foot. 

“I don’t remember any of it, sorry,” Neville said. And then, because he wanted to have _something_ else to add, continued, “But um...when they found me, I was locked inside my nursery. Both my parents were outside. We think they died protecting me.”

“Wow…” Ron said, followed by an uneasy silence broken only by Hedwig rather noisily trying to eat one of her pheasant pieces. 

Neville cleared his throat, wondering if he should find an excuse to leave and go find Hermione, who was probably still looking for Trevor. It seemed a bit rude to just walk out on Harry after he went to all the trouble of helping him escape Slughorn’s meeting. These two didn’t seem like a bad sort, albeit a little blunt. 

“I think our parents knew each other,” Harry said suddenly, giving Neville the distinct impression that this was something he’d been bursting to say from the moment they met. “Um, back during the war. They were all working against You-Know-Who together. So were Ron’s uncles.”

“Oh,” Neville said, not sure how to respond. His Gran talked very proudly of the work his parents had done to defy Voldemort, but he hadn’t met many of their friends. A glimmer of excitement stirred up in him. “Have they told you much about them? My parents?” he asked hopefully.

That uncomfortable silence returned as Harry and Ron exchanged glances, and Neville knew immediately that Harry’s parents and Ron’s uncles had not been around to tell them war stories about Neville’s parents. It was not an uncommon tale; so many wizarding families had lost loved ones during the war, its effects were still felt as keenly as ever even ten years later. “Er, sorry,” he said. 

Harry shook his head. “No, um, _I’m_ sorry. They were really brave, though. All of them,” he said, a note of pride in his tone. “You know what they used to be called? The Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore started it himself, defying You-Know-Who in secret.”

“Really?” Neville asked. He’d known about what they did, of course, but never what they were called. 

They were saved from further awkward conversation by the fact that the compartment door slid open to show the two redheaded twins from earlier. Both were grinning ear to ear. 

“You’d think they’d never seen a Dungbomb before,” said one. 

Harry beamed up at them. “That was brilliant, I owe you one.”

Both twins gave a dramatic bow. “You can thank us with a flagon of Slug Juice or whatever it is that they hand out in those meetings,” said the second twin.

“You can thank us by not telling Percy we helped you escape,” the first one added dourly. “He’s already unbearable with his shiny new Prefect badge. Four years he’s been trying to get an invite to one of Slughorn’s parties and you got one on your first day, Harry. He’ll be livid. Actually, maybe we _should_ tell him...”

“From the sound of it, my mum used to be part of his club,” Harry said. “Can’t imagine why, though. He didn’t seem to like Muggle-borns much. Acted like it was this great obstacle she had to overcome.”

“If it quacks like a Slytherin, it’s probably a Slytherin,” said the second twin disdainfully. 

“Harry wasn’t the only first-year there, though,” Ron interrupted. “Neville, these are my brothers, Fred and George.”

Fred and George’s faces whipped down to where Neville was sitting behind Hedwig’s cage, having not seen him properly from the doorway. “Bloody hell, you’re not wrong,” said Fred.

“Thought I heard them saying something earlier when the train was leaving,” George said. “Pleased to be of service, Mr. Longbottom. If ever you need another quick getaway, just say ‘Weasley’ three times in front of a mirror.”

“And don’t worry about Slughorn,” Fred added. “He’s a bit of a pratt but he’s alright in actual classes.”

“Er—thanks,” said Neville.

“Listen, Ronniekins,” Fred continued, turning his attention back to his brother, “we’re almost there and first-years go to the castle separately, so we just dropped by to wish you luck before the big Sorting.”

“Whatever happens, you know we love you,” George said.

“But if you don’t make Gryffindor, we _will_ never speak to you again,” Fred continued. “So don’t fail.”

Ron scowled. “Oh, get out!” he said irritably, getting up and shoving Fred, who allowed himself to be pushed into George and frogmarched out of the compartment.

“Whatever you do, when you fight the troll, don’t look him directly in the eyes, it’ll just make him mad!” George called, as Ron slammed the door after them. 

“Bloody gits,” he muttered.

Neville had suddenly gone very pale. “We have to fight a troll?”

“That’s how they say we get sorted into the four houses, but I’m pretty sure they’re pulling my leg,” Ron said. 

Harry snorted. “They are. Sirius told me about it, you just have to try on the Sorting Hat and it reads your mind.”

“I’ll kill them,” Ron said, but he and Neville both looked incredibly relieved. “What House do you want to get, Neville?” he asked. “Harry and I are going to be in Gryffindor. Well, we’re hoping, since that’s where our parents were.”

Neville shrugged, not wanting to tell them that Gryffindor was the last thing he wanted. His parents had also been Gryffindors, but the House had something of a reputation for courage and bravery, and that was a lot of pressure that Neville was not interested in. He wanted to keep his head down while at Hogwarts. Hufflepuff was his first choice.

Now that he knew the Sorting Hat read their minds, though...would it recognise him as a Parselmouth and put him in Slytherin, the House founded by the most famous Parselmouth in history? He knew that Slytherins couldn’t all be bad, but they _also_ had a reputation, and amongst members of the other Houses it was not a good one. Slytherin definitely wouldn’t keep him out of the limelight. Besides, the idea of being in the same House as the wizard who murdered his parents made his skin crawl.

“I dunno,” he said at last. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see.”

The country speeding by in the train’s windows was becoming more and more sparse. Fred and George were right; they only had about half an hour before they arrived at Hogsmeade Station. Harry complained about having missed the sweets trolley because of Slughorn’s lunch invitation, and that brought the subject around to Chocolate Frog Cards, which Harry and Ron both collected and had a lovely time showing Neville for the remainder of the journey. Neville was just about to get up and go find his trunk when the compartment door slid open one more time. 

“Excuse me, have either of you seen a toad? My friend’s lost one,” Hermione said.

“You sure they didn’t just ditch it?” Ron asked. “‘S what I’d do if I had a toad.”

“Hermione!” Neville said, leaning forward so that she could see him from behind the owl cage.

“Neville?” Hermione asked, looking with surprise at the Chocolate Frog Cards they were handing around. “I thought you were with Professor Slughorn.”

“It finished early, and we, er,” Neville stuttered, immediately feeling guilty that he’d been hanging out with Harry and Ron while Hermione had clearly been searching for Trevor all this time. The situation was not helped by what Ron had just said. “We hid out in here. From the...Dungbombs.”

“Yeah, I made him come,” Harry said defensively. 

Hermione still looked a little hurt. “Right,” she said. “Well, we have your trunk in our cabin, so you’d better go and change into your robes.” Then she turned and marched away.

Neville did not miss Harry shooting Ron an annoyed look, to which the latter responded with a vague ‘ _what_ ’ gesture. Handing Ron back his cards, Neville got up. “I have to go. I’ll see you at the station,” he said, chasing after Hermione.

Hannah and the others had collected his trunk while Hermione was searching for Trevor. They asked him about Slughorn’s meeting while Hermione sat back down in the corner without looking at him. Blushing bright red, Neville grabbed his robes before running off to the lavatory to change. He was one of the last students to do so; the train had stopped by the time he was finished. 

Hermione was already gone from the compartment when Neville returned, but Hannah, Susan, Justin and Ernie had waited for him. “Did you find your toad?” Susan asked sympathetically. 

Neville shook his head glumly. “No.”

“Well, Hermione mentioned it to the conductor, so if they find him on the train later they’ll send him up to the school with our luggage,” Ernie said. 

“Come on, we’d better go,” Justin said, and the five of them hurried off the train, scanning the crowd to figure out where they were meant to go. 

The answer was not hard to find; an extremely tall, stocky man with a very large beard was waving a lantern on one end of the platform and calling out, “Firs’ years ter me! All firs’ years over here!”

They soon learned that the man was Hagrid, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron were already standing next to him chattering excitedly when they arrived. It was traditional for first-years to cross the lake by boat while the older students rode up to the school in carriages. Once they had accounted for everyone, Hagrid led them down to the lake where a fleet of small boats was waiting for them. 

It was starting to get dark, but Neville had to admit that it was a spectacular sight, especially lit by the pink light of the sunset. The lake was enormous, stretching around beside the forest on the other side, and Hogwarts Castle towered over it, its towers and spires twinkling with light from distant windows. 

Neville scanned the crowd and located Hermione, who was down at the front. He managed to get a boat with her and the Patil twins, although he misjudged his step when getting in and promptly planted his foot in icy lake water, pushing the boat off from the shore as he did so. He would have fallen in if not for the fact that Hermione and Parvati, who were closest, leapt forward and caught his arms, hauling him into the boat. It rocked treacherously.

“Thanks,” Neville said, red with embarrassment. 

“It’s alright,” Hermione said. 

“Er, I just wanted to say, I wasn’t trying to avoid you before,” he added quickly as he sat down. “Harry and I left Professor Slughorn’s compartment together and went back to his right after. I was just about to head back when you showed up.”

Hermione’s face was hard to read, but then she gave him a little smile. “Really, it’s fine,” she assured him. 

The boats must have been enchanted; they started to glide effortlessly across the lake. 

“Besides, it’s probably a good thing you weren’t there,” Parvati said. 

“Oh yes, that boy…” said Padma.

“This horrible boy came by while you were gone, he’d heard you were in our compartment,” Parvati continued, lowering her voice. 

“You should have seen the looks he gave Hermione and Justin when he realised they were Muggle-born.”

Here, everyone glanced at Hermione, but she didn’t respond. She looked up at the castle, deep in thought. “He doesn’t matter,” she said curtly. “I’m just excited we’re nearly there. Isn’t it beautiful?” She pointed toward Hogwarts.

Neville had assumed that they would dock on the shore and walk the rest of the way, but to everyone’s surprise, the boats headed toward an opening in the cliff face beneath the castle itself and through a dark tunnel, finally stopping in front of a stone passageway leading to some steps. To Neville’s relief, Hagrid spotted Trevor in one of the boats while they were disembarking, and he scooped him up gratefully. After that, it was a simple hike up a long flight of stairs which opened up directly in front of the castle’s massive doors.

A stern-looking witch that Neville knew to be Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher and an old acquaintance of his Gran’s, met them at the entrance. She led them through to a small chamber next to the Great Hall, where they could already hear hundreds of voices from the returning students. After running them through a brief introduction to the Houses and the Sorting Ceremony, she paused to assess them thoughtfully. 

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Neville got the distinct impression that she was looking at him while she said this, but maybe it was just nerves. 

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” she continued, before disappearing into the Great Hall. 

As soon as she was gone, excited murmurs broke out amongst the students, the Sorting Ceremony being foremost on everyone’s minds. Everyone seemed to have somewhere they wanted to go. Hermione was busily telling Neville and the twins about the history of each House, which she had read about in _Hogwarts: A History_. Ron had just spotted Neville holding Trevor and was turning bright red upon remembering what he said to Hermione. Harry was trying to peer through the crack in the door. Then a voice spoke directly behind Neville. 

“It’s true, then?” 

Neville turned around quickly to see a pale boy with blond hair staring at him deliberatively. He was flanked by two much larger boys. The first’s eyes flicked down to Trevor. “They were saying Neville Longbottom was on the train. That’s you, right?”

Neville tucked Trevor inside his robes. “Yes,” he muttered, not wanting to drag this out. “And you?” he asked, glancing between the pale boy and his two friends, who might just as well have been bodyguards. 

“Oh, I’m Malfoy,” he said with a smirk. “Draco Malfoy. These are Crabbe and Goyle.” 

Neville recognised Draco Malfoy’s name from one of the prominent pureblood wizarding families. This must be the boy Parvati and Padma had mentioned earlier. Sure enough, Malfoy was sizing up Hermione, who was still standing next to Neville, with obvious distaste. “You’re a pureblood, right?” Malfoy continued, when Neville didn’t say more. “You ought to be careful who your friends are. I’d have thought you of all people would know what happens to wizards who mix with—”

“Oh, leave him alone, Malfoy.” Neville almost jumped at the sound of Harry’s voice; he hadn’t realised he was standing so close. Glancing sideways, Neville saw him push in front of Ron to glare at Malfoy. 

Malfoy’s nose wrinkled with intense dislike. “Butt out, _Potter_ , this doesn’t concern you.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, but he stood his ground. “No, this doesn’t concern _you_. I really doubt the Boy Who Lived wants a future Death Eater for a friend.”

A few people gasped; this was a pretty serious accusation. Malfoy, however, simply scoffed. “I suppose you’d know all about Death Eaters, wouldn’t you, Potter? Did Mummy tell you? Oh, that’s right, she can’t, can she?”

Harry’s hands clenched into fists. “Take that back, Malfoy.”

At this, Malfoy snickered, tapping Crabbe on the shoulder as if to get his attention. “Oh, did that upset you?” he crowed at Harry. “Mummy’s not too talkative these days, then? Still, at least she’s doing better than your pathetic father. He got what he deserved for marrying a _Mudblood_.” 

Ron and Neville sensed what was going to happen a second too late. Harry hurled himself at Malfoy before either could grab him, landing a solid punch square in Malfoy’s eye and grabbing him by the front of his robes. “Say you’re sorry!” he shouted.

“ _What in Merlin’s name is going on here?_ ”

All of the students jumped in alarm to look at Professor McGonagall, who was standing in the doorway with a look of absolute murder. Harry released Malfoy, who was whimpering pathetically.

“Professor, Potter just attacked me, I didn’t do anything,” he cried, although there was no sign of tears. 

McGonagall looked sharply at Harry. “Explain yourself, Potter!”

Harry was still shaking with rage, but a chorus of voices sprang up.

“It’s not his fault, Professor McGonagall!”

“He was provoked!” 

“Malfoy started it!”

“It was Malfoy! He called Harry’s mother a M— a Mud—” It was Ron this time, but he was struggling to finish his sentence, unable to repeat the word.

McGonagall clearly did not need him to. She turned her piercing gaze to Draco, who had backed away from Harry and was straightening his robes. “Is that true, Mr. Malfoy?”

Malfoy was still glaring at Harry, but he didn’t dare lie to a teacher with so many witnesses to prove him wrong. Instead, he said, “Potter called me a Death Eater.”

“He called you a _future_ Death Eater,” Ron retorted.

“ _Silence_ , Mr. Weasley. I am disgusted with both of you! Mr Malfoy, we do _not_ tolerate that kind of language here. The train hasn’t even left yet and I have half a mind to put you back on it. And you, Potter!” she added, rounding on Harry before he could slink back into the crowd. “I hadn’t thought you capable of such things! There is no excuse for attacking another student, do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry muttered, still glaring daggers at Malfoy. 

McGonagall exhaled, straightening up again. “Since you couldn’t even wait to be sorted before breaking school rules, I cannot remove points from your Houses. However, you will both be serving detention with me, and I will be writing to your families tonight. Now, please form a line and we’ll get this over with.”

There were a great deal of hushed voices as the first years formed a line behind Professor McGonagall and started into the Great Hall. Neville heard a girl asking Malfoy about his eye.

“Oh, it’s horrible,” Malfoy was saying from somewhere behind him. “I might have to spend tonight in the hospital wing. And _me_ getting detention when he’s the one who hit me! Just wait ‘til my father hears about this.”

In front, Ron was whispering to Harry. 

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. If you hadn’t hit him, I would’ve. He had it coming.”

“‘Course he did,” Harry replied. “But McGonagall’s probably gonna tell the Hat not to put me in Gryffindor as a punishment. It’s _her_ House.”

Ron snorted. “Punching a loser like that’s just about the most Gryffindor thing you can do. How d’you know him, anyway?”

“He’s related to Sirius,” Harry said, voice still dripping with dislike. “We’ve met a couple of times. He’s always been like that.”

“Well, at least Sirius won’t mind when McGonagall writes to him. He’ll probably send you chocolates.”

“Yeah, but if Moony finds out I’ll really be in for it.”

All conversation ceased when they reached the front of the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall was standing beside a stool upon which rested a very old, very battered-looking hat. They waited, tense, for a few moments until the hat began its song, telling of the four houses and the traits which defined them. _Gryffindor, where dwell the brave of heart. Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal. Ravenclaw, if you’ve a ready mind. Slytherin, those cunning folk._ Neville didn’t feel like any of those particularly described him, but he thought he could maybe be just and loyal enough to get by in Hufflepuff. 

This resolve was strengthened when Professor McGonagall started calling out names, and one by one, the students made their way up to the stool. Of the people Neville knew, Lavender Brown and Hermione Granger were placed into Gryffindor, but Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley from the train all went to join the Hufflepuff table. Malfoy’s friends Crabbe and Goyle became Slytherins. One by one, the students were called up to the hat, and one by one, they left to a round of applause from their new houses. Neville’s palms were sweating. And then—

“Longbottom, Neville.”

A sudden hush fell across the Great Hall as everyone started straining to get a look at him. Neville swallowed, starting toward the Sorting Hat and stumbling over his feet as he did so. A short chorus of chuckles erupted but were quickly silenced as he righted himself and sat down. He caught a brief glimpse of Hannah and Susan giving him thumbs-ups from the Hufflepuff table, before Professor McGonagall placed the hat over his head and he could no longer see. 

Neville crossed his fingers. _Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff,_ he thought as hard as he could. 

He could hear a small voice speaking. ‘Ah, yes, definitely a—Hufflepuff? No, no, I don’t think so. It’s all here in your head. You belong in—’

 _Not Slytherin_! Neville’s chest lurched. _I know I’m a Parselmouth, but—_

‘Parselmouth? You’re giving me a real workout today, boy. No, definitely not Slytherin either. Come on, it’s obvious. Brave of heart, that’s where you belong. Better be—’

 _WAIT!_ Neville begged. _Um, I’d rather not be in Gryffindor either. I’m telling you, I’m not brave. What about Ravenclaw?_ he thought desperately. 

‘Ravenclaw?’ The hat sounded annoyed now. ‘For goodness sake, I wasn’t made last century, you know. I do know what I’m doing. You belong in—’

_Wait, please, just hear me out. If it’s all the same to you, I really would prefer Hufflepuff._

‘But it’s not all the same to me,’ the hat said. ‘Alright, I’ve had enough of this. GRYFFINDOR!’

This last was shouted to the rest of the Hall and immediately followed by a positively deafening cheer from the Gryffindors. Neville’s stomach lurched, but he got up from the stool and started toward the table, only to realise he was still wearing the Sorting Hat and run back to hand it to the next student amid further laughter. His cheeks burned. 

Luckily, his mishap was quickly forgotten. Hermione was patting the spot next to her excitedly. On her other side was a tall redheaded boy wearing a Prefect badge that Neville supposed was Ron’s brother, Percy. 

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Hermione asked. “I’ve always thought Gryffindor was the best house—so many great witches and wizards. They told me I was a witch when I turned eleven almost a year ago so I’ve had nothing to do since then but read. Oh, hold on, it’s Ernie’s turn,” she added, craning her head toward the stool again.

To Neville’s disappointment, Ernie MacMillan was sorted into Hufflepuff, and he was soon running off to join Hannah, Susan and Justin. Then came Malfoy. The hat had barely even touched his head before it declared him a Slytherin. 

“No surprise there,” said Fred, who was sitting across from them. 

After Malfoy, Parvati Patil came to join them at the Gryffindor table while her sister ran off to join the Ravenclaws. Then came Harry’s turn, and sure enough, after a moment’s deliberation, the hat shouted “GRYFFINDOR”. Harry was grinning ear to ear as he bounded down to their table and sat next to Fred and George, leaving a space for Ron who came to join them a few minutes later. 

“Blimey, Mum will be pleased,” Ron was saying. “Now there’s just Ginny and Gryffindor’ll have the lot of us. Hey Fred, George, did Harry tell you he punched Draco Malfoy?”

Fred grinned, George whooped, and Percy’s head snapped up from where he had been chatting with Hermione. “You did what, Harry?” he asked, alarmed. 

Harry had the grace to look a little bit sheepish, but only a little. “It’s not like it was my resolution when I woke up this morning,” he said. 

“Yeah!” Ron said defensively. “Malfoy was the one who started it. The things he was saying about Harry’s parents…”

“You don’t need to make excuses, I think it’s brilliant,” George said. 

“Yeah, had me at ‘punched a Malfoy’,” said Fred. 

“Harry,” Percy said delicately, “I know they aren’t the most…forward-thinking, but Lucius Malfoy has a lot of power at the Ministry, and he’s head of the school’s Board of Governors. He could make your life very difficult. Frankly, you should consider yourself lucky Professor McGonagall didn’t expel you on the spot.”

It was then that Professor Dumbledore chose to announce the beginning of the feast. He got to his feet, and instantly a hush fell across the waiting students. 

Neville had never met Dumbledore, although he knew what he looked like. He was a tall wizard with a very long beard, and he grinned out at the waiting students with twinkling eyes. “Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!” he announced. “Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

He then sat back down to a very loud applause and a great deal of laughter. Dumbledore had always had a reputation for being a bit eccentric, but there was no denying he was the greatest wizard who ever lived. Neville’s Gran held him in incredibly high regard.

Once their food appeared, Neville took advantage of the moment to glance up at the staff table. The only faces he knew were Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Slughorn, and Dumbledore himself.

He scanned the table curiously, trying to decide who looked the most intimidating and deciding quickly that that honour should be reserved for McGonagall, who at least seemed fair. 

Sitting at the far end of the staff table was another teacher that Neville didn’t recognise, but whom he quickly realised was looking straight at him. He was a nervous-looking man wearing a very large turban on his head. 

The staring was not unusual—Neville had been stared at all his life—but when he saw Neville looking back, the man quickly turned away to talk to another teacher on his other side. Then Neville felt a sharp pain across his forehead, causing him to drop his fork. “Ow!” 

A few hears turned toward him. “Are you alright, Neville?” asked Hermione. 

“Yeah...I’m fine,” Neville said, rubbing his head. “Just a headache.”

He’d had headaches before, but never like this. He could’ve sworn that it had hurt right where his scar was. Was that normal?

“It has been a long day,” Hermione said. 

“Yeah,” Neville mumbled. “So, um, what are the teachers like?” he asked, directing the question at Percy and nodding noncommittally toward the staff table. 

“Oh, they’re excellent,” Percy said, sounding pleased to know something that Neville didn’t. “Professor McGonagall, who you’ve met, takes Transfiguration. A very difficult form of magic—one of my best subjects, though,” he added proudly. “That there is Professor Flitwick, he teaches Charms. Slughorn teaches Potions—great man, Professor Slughorn—” Neville detected a wistful note in his voice. “—Professor Sprout teaches Herbology. And that man toward the end is the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell.”

Neville realised he was indicating the man with the turban.

“That’s right,” said Harry, who had been listening from across the table. “Ron and I met him in Diagon Alley when we were buying our things.”

“Oh yeah, when Sirius was talking to Hagrid in the Leaky Cauldron,” Ron recalled. “Poor bloke, reckon he thought we were attacking him when he first saw us.”

“He taught Muggle Studies in my third year, but he took last year off to go travelling,” Percy said. “Faced a lot of monsters, or so I’ve heard.”

Neville glanced at Quirrell again, but the sharp pain in his forehead did not return. He could almost pretend he’d imagined it. 

By the time they had finished eating, Neville was already starting to feel sleepy from all the food. He caught Ron stifling a yawn, while Hermione started pestering Percy about what the dormitories were like. As if on cue, Dumbledore got to his feet once more, to deliver the start of term announcements. It all seemed pretty standard, right up until—

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death.”

A few students laughed, including Harry and Ron, but most of the hall including Percy exchanged confused glances and quiet mutterings. No reason was given, and Neville felt his heart sink; he already knew that it would be a week or less before he wandered into the forbidden corridor by mistake. He’d had a terrible sense of direction even before he came to a gigantic magical castle.

Once the feast was over, Percy ushered all the new Gryffindors together to lead them up to their dormitories. Neville tried to keep track of where they were going, but he was hopelessly lost within moments. He’d just have to make sure he stuck close with everyone else for the rest of term. Halfway there, they were accosted by Hogwarts’ resident poltergeist, Peeves, who promptly started pelting them with sticks until Percy threatened to notify the Bloody Baron. 

All of this, however, was quickly forgotten when they reached Gryffindor tower. Neville was sharing a dormitory with Harry, Ron, and two other boys named Seamus and Dean. Despite how tired they’d all felt at dinner, nobody was in a mood to go to sleep when they arrived. Dean started decorating the area around his bed with motionless posters of a Muggle sporting team, which earned a lot of confused questioning from the other boys, particularly Ron. Harry actually took out a quill and parchment to start writing a letter. (“I want to tell my godfather what happened with Malfoy.”) He attempted a _lumos_ spell a couple of times before giving up and lighting a candle. 

Neville set Trevor on the foot of his bed, and Ron looked up from poking Dean’s poster. “Oh, ‘sthat your toad?”

“Mmhmm,” Neville hummed in response.

“Er, that’s cool. What kind of toad is he?”

“He’s a smooth-sided toad,” Neville said.

“Right,” Ron said, in a tone that suggested he knew absolutely nothing about toads.

Neville knew he was trying to make up for what he said on the train, which was...nice, he supposed. He was used to getting weird looks about his choice of pet, but it wasn’t generally the first thing people noticed about him. “Have you got any pets?” he asked, trying to indicate that they were cool without actually bringing it up.

“Nah. I wanted an owl but we couldn’t—well, I can just use the school owls if I need to.”

“Do you reckon we’ll have time to visit the owlery before breakfast?” Harry asked, looking up from the letter he was writing. 

“If you can manage to find it,” Ron said, going back over to his own bed and digging his pyjamas out of his trunk. Neville noticed they were a little small for him. 

“I doubt I can even find my way back to the Great Hall,” Neville said, relieved that he wasn’t the only one who found the task of successfully navigating the castle daunting. 

“They should give us maps,” Harry agreed, rolling up his letter and putting his ink away. 

When they finally climbed into bed and shut their eyes, Neville’s mind was still abuzz with everything that had happened that day. Augusta would be pleased that he was in Gryffindor, even if it hadn’t been Neville’s first choice. He thought about Harry writing to his godfather the moment they reached the dorm and wondered if he should have written to his Gran too. Surely that could wait a day or two…

Feeling guilty, Neville found that he rather liked the freedom. Sure, he had classes to go to, but the rest of the time he could do whatever he liked. Go for a walk, visit the library, maybe join a club. The novelty of his presence would wear off soon and then he’d be just another student among hundreds. 

It was with this thought in mind that Neville smiled to himself and finally went to sleep.


	2. The Mirror of Erised

The next few weeks were some of the best and worst of Neville’s entire life. 

The stares that had followed him since babyhood were present no matter where he went, but here, there was no escaping them. He wasn’t used to going out much, and now strangers everywhere he turned were clamoring just to catch a glimpse of him. 

The situation was not made easier by the fact that they were all pretty underwhelmed by what they saw. Neville had always been a bit clumsy, but having his every action scrutinised only amplified the problem. It felt as though every time somebody so much as glanced in his direction he dropped whatever he was holding. His cheeks were constantly burning as everyone came to realise that the Boy Who Lived was actually a bit of a joke. 

It also didn’t help that Peeves quickly zeroed in on him as an easy target. On Neville’s very first day, the poltergeist tied his shoelaces together over breakfast, causing him to fall flat on his back and knock several plates off the table when he got up. It seemed that around every single corner was a floating man in brightly-coloured jester’s garb, waiting to throw walnuts at him or blow raspberries whenever he tried to speak. 

This, coupled with all of the moving staircases, the trick step he kept getting his foot stuck in, and the fact that he frequently forgot the password to get back into the common room, had the unfortunate effect that Neville was constantly frazzled and late to class. 

Luckily, Hermione managed to get the hang of things within a few days, and as first-year Gryffindors they shared all their classes. So long as he stuck very close to her, he was okay. Also rather shocking was that Filch the caretaker seemed to hate him less than he did the other students, although Neville suspected that this was only because the one thing he hated more than students was Peeves. 

The classes themselves, though, were something else altogether. Neville’s favourite subject quickly became Herbology, not the least of which was because it was the only class he shared with the Hufflepuffs he had met on the train. They remained friendly with him despite ending up in different houses; Susan Bones beamed and beckoned him over to their bench the moment he entered the greenhouse for their first lesson. 

The teacher, Professor Sprout, was head of Hufflepuff House, but she didn’t seem to treat the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students any differently. She was a friendly sort of witch in a large hat who took an instant liking to him. Neville soon felt comfortable enough to raise his hand when she asked for a volunteer, and he found that unlike wandwork, he could quite successfully get whatever plant they were working on to do his bidding, whether that was repotting or harvesting or extracting some kind of valuable potion ingredient from a brightly-coloured pod. His success in Herbology greatly boosted his confidence, and Neville even found himself reading and re-reading their textbook,  _ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _ , in his spare time. 

It was a good thing he had Herbology to look forward to three times a week, because his remaining subjects did not go quite so well. He was always so sleepy during Astronomy that he barely remembered anything the following day. History of Magic was entirely theory-based but incredibly dull. Their Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons were rather confusing, as Quirrell jumped at the slightest unexpected movement. In Charms he was able to scrape by by watching Hermione very closely and copying her wand movements. Transfiguration, however, immediately became his worst subject albeit not for the reason Neville had expected. 

McGonagall, despite her stern exterior and high expectations, was actually a very patient teacher, but all the patience in the world did not help Neville turn a matchstick into a needle. Percy was right; it was a very difficult school of magic. 

The only other subject Neville did well in was Potions, although it went off to a very rocky start. After a brief introduction in their first lesson, Professor Slughorn had them pair up to try making a very simple potion from their textbook while he walked between them to check their progress. Neville ended up sharing with Seamus Finnegan. He’d thought they were doing pretty well, too—right up until a loud hissing sound erupted from the surface of their potion as it bubbled over the sides. The next thing they knew, Seamus’s cauldron had completely melted, spilling the potion all over Neville, who yelped in pain.

Slughorn turned sharply from Crabbe and Goyle’s potion, which was the colour of vomit, and rushed over.

“Oh, dear me, what’s this?” he said, waving his wand. The potion vanished instantly from Neville’s skin, although angry red boils were springing up in its wake. It was incredibly painful.

“S- sorry, sir,” Neville gasped. He could hear Malfoy snickering from the other side of the room. 

“Nonsense, dear boy, nonsense!” said Slughorn. “You should have seen Damocles Belby on his first day, and he was one of the finest potioneers I ever taught! He got an Order or Merlin, you know. Ah, but wait here, I thought something like this might happen, so I prepared...here,” he said, returning with a flask of thick, sticky liquid. “Here, dab this wherever it hurts. Essence of Murtlap tentacles—a useful potion ingredient, but also quite handy in its own right. Do write that down…”

Neville accepted the ointment and tentatively started applying it to his arms. Almost immediately, the pain lessened as the boils started to fade. Before long, the reddest part of Neville’s body was his face, which was still blushing with embarrassment. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now, would you like to try again? We’ve still got nearly half the lesson,” asked Slughorn, absentmindedly tapping his wand to the remains of their cauldron, which sprang back into its original shape with the sound of twanging metal. “Just make sure you take the cauldron off the heat before adding the porcupine quills. Easy mistake to make, for sure. Happens all the time.” He patted Neville’s shoulder.

Neville laughed with relief. 

This time, Neville made sure to read each line in  _ Magical Draughts and Potions _ twice before proceeding. He and Seamus weren’t quite finished by the time the period ended, but while Seamus hurried off to lunch, Neville stayed put. The only things left to do were add the porcupine quills and stir, which was where he’d gone wrong last time. He wanted to see if he could get it right. 

Slughorn had been gathering up his notes while the other students left, but he looked up on realising that Neville hadn’t moved, and broke into a warm smile. “Ah, almost finished, are we?”

“Yes, sir,” Neville mumbled, still too embarrassed to meet his eyes. He hadn’t spoken to him much since the train. 

“Let’s have a look...ah, excellent, excellent,” he mused, coming over to glance at the potion. “See? No harm done.”

Neville carefully lifted the cauldron off the fire and, under Professor Slughorn’s watchful gaze, added two porcupine quills. He didn’t dare raise his eyes as he stirred the potion. Once, twice...five times. The potion turned the exact shade of blue described in the book.

Despite having read the instructions through many times, Neville glanced disheartedly at the last step.  _ Wave your wand to complete the potion.  _ He looked back at the potion. “Um, sir?” he asked anxiously. 

“What is it, m’boy?”

“Can you do this last step?” he asked awkwardly. “I’m not really good at wand magic and I don’t want to ruin the whole thing.”

Slughorn’s eyes widened with surprise. “Not good at wand magic? Why, your wand wouldn’t have chosen you without a reason. I know you can do it.”

Neville’s ears turned red. “Um, my wand didn’t actually choose me. It was my dad’s.”

At this, Slughorn’s expression saddened. “Oh, I see. Well, there’s your problem, my boy! You need a wand that is yours and yours alone. But no matter, you won’t ruin the potion if this last step doesn’t work. Try as many times as you like. Go on!” 

Looking dubiously back at the potion, Neville lifted his wand. He’d always liked that it was once his father’s. It felt like having a part of him with him. But maybe Professor Slughorn was right; the wand never seemed to work for him quite as well as his classmates’ did for them. 

He waved the wand. Nothing happened. He looked up at Slughorn, who was still smiling his encouragement, eyebrows raised expectantly. Sighing, Neville tried again. 

A thin jolt of white light crackled from the tip of his wand, causing Neville to jump in surprise, and as he watched, pink smoke began to rise from the potion.

Professor Slughorn clapped his hands together, delighted. “Now you see! I knew you had it in you! Take five well-earned points for Gryffindor.” 

Neville sagged in relief. “Thank you, Professor,” he mumbled. 

Professor Slughorn helped him bottle a flask of the potion for marking while Neville gathered his things. He was just getting ready to go when Slughorn said, “You know, I was chatting with Professor Sprout in the staff room the other day. She has great things to say about your skills as a botanist.”

Neville blushed. She’d really said that? “Well, sir,” he admitted, “sometimes plants are a lot friendlier than, er, other things.”

Slughorn chuckled. “I daresay you might not think that when she shows you the Devil’s Snare—but this is excellent, my boy, excellent. The subjects of Herbology and Potions are natural friends, you know. We potioneers rely on it for many of our most important ingredients. Couldn’t do anything we do in here if it weren’t for dear Pomona and her greenhouses out there.”

“Oh, of course,” Neville said, unsure how to respond. 

“In any case, I think we can expect great things from you, Mr. Longbottom. Now, why don’t you run along to lunch?”

Neville had to go back to the common room to drop off his things before heading down to the Great Hall for lunch, especially considering he still had Seamus’s cauldron as well as his own. The portrait of the Fat Lady opened just as he was arriving, and while he couldn’t see their faces past the two cauldrons he was carrying, he recognised the voices as Harry and Ron.

“Alright there, Neville?” Harry asked, taking the cauldrons from Neville so he could climb through the hole. 

Neville nodded, and then excitedly said, “I got five points for my potion!”

Ron whistled. “Nice one, mate. We used too many quills. They were really small, so I thought we’d better add an extra, but the whole thing turned green.” 

“Hey Neville,” Harry added as he passed the cauldrons back through the portrait hole, “Ron and I are going down to have tea with Hagrid this afternoon. Why don’t you come with us?”

“Hagrid won’t mind?” Neville asked, touched. He’d been wanting to see more of the grounds, but with the way Peeves was following him around he didn’t like the idea of going by himself. 

“Nah, Hagrid’s great,” Harry said. “He bought me my owl on my birthday. You’ll like him.”

And so it was that at three o’clock that afternoon, Neville found himself making his way down to the small cottage on the edge of the grounds that he had previously seen but never visited. True to Harry’s words, Hagrid did not seem at all bothered by having an extra guest. In fact, he positively beamed upon seeing the three of them. 

“You must be Neville Longbottom!” he said, beckoning them inside. “Was hoping you’d drop by, didn’t get much of a chance to chat to yer on the boats.” An enormous dog immediately sprinted over to try and lick their faces, bowling Neville over in the process. “Ah,  _ down _ , Fang.” Hagrid grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off Neville. “Ruddy thing don’t know his own strength,” he said, helping Neville up. “Make yerselves at home.”

Hagrid brought out four cups of tea, which were extremely hot, and some rock cakes, which were extremely hard. He had to clear away a space on the table, shoving aside an old  _ Daily Prophet _ .

“How’s yer owl, Harry?” he asked as he sat down. 

Harry seemed pleased to be asked. “She’s great—I named her Hedwig,” he said. “She’s taking a letter to London at the moment.”

“Ah—how’re Sirius and Remus, then?” 

“Really good,” Harry said. “Moony—sorry, Remus—isn’t there right now, though. He’s got a job in Wales.”

“That man’ll only stop working when he’s dead,” Hagrid said, shaking his head. Then he turned to Neville. “An’ how’s yer Gran?” he asked. 

Neville looked surprised. “You know my Gran?”

“Aye, Augusta Longbottom.” Hagrid said, nodding. “Haven’t seen her since I dropped you off at her house, mind. You were so small I could carry yeh in one hand.”

Neville had been taking a sip of tea. When Hagrid said this, it spilled ungracefully back into its cup. “Um, sorry,” he gasped, setting the cup down, “are you saying you’re the one who dropped me at my grandparents’?” 

Hagrid was quite taken aback by Neville’s surprise. “You didn’ know? Well, I suppose she wouldn’t’ve liked to talk about it much. Yeah, Dumbledore sent me to yer house as soon as he heard the news. Had to break down the door to yer nursery to get you out, yer parents had locked it. Oh, but are you sure you want ter hear this?” he asked, suddenly uncertain.

Neville, however, had never wanted to hear anything more in his life. He’d spoken to so many people who knew his parents, but none who had  _ been _ there. None who could claim to have met  _ him  _ that night. “Yes, I—what happened?”

Hagrid sighed. “Well, I met up with Dumbledore an’ we took you to yer grandparents. It was past midnight, but they were already awake when we got there. Dunno how they knew somethin’ was wrong, but I suppose the whole wizarding world knew by the next morning. We didn’t have ter say nothing when they opened that door. Moment they saw me there holdin’ you, they knew what’d happened.” 

Hagrid looked down at his tea sadly. “A stronger witch than yer Gran, there never was. She just listened to everything—after she’d settled yeh down, mind. Yer granddad asked us a few questions, then they asked us ter leave you in peace.”

That did sound like his grandparents. Neville felt a sudden pang of longing to see them again. 

Harry and Ron had been listening in silence, completely lost for words. “I’m really sorry, Neville,” Harry said at last.

“Yeah,” Ron added. “It’s...wow.”

Neville offered them an awkward smile. “Thanks for telling me, Hagrid,” he said.

“Oh, that’s my pleasure. I knew yer parents well, we were in the Order together,” Hagrid said. “Yeh should’ve seen it when you were born, it was chaos. Alice and Frank had just had you and then Lily and James had Harry the very next day.”

“What?” Harry and Neville asked in unison. 

“Wait—what are your birthdays?” Ron asked.

“Thirtieth of July,” Neville said. 

“I’m the thirty-first!” Harry replied excitedly. “Wow, Hagrid, I never knew that.”

It was strange to think that in another life, he and Harry might have grown up together. Their parents were friends, both with sons the same age. Neville wondered what exactly had happened to Harry’s parents. The way he talked made it sound like his mother, at least, was still alive, but had for some reason been unable to raise him. It seemed a bit invasive to ask. 

After that, Hagrid asked Ron about one of his other brothers, Charlie, who Ron happily explained was now abroad working with dragons. (“Blimey, I’d love a dragon,” Hagrid said wistfully.) Neville was still turning all of this new information over in his mind and trying to distract himself by eating (or attempting to eat) one of Hagrid’s rock cakes. Meanwhile, Harry had picked up the _ Daily Prophet _ that Hagrid had pushed aside earlier and was reading it with a frown. 

“Hey, Hagrid,” he said suddenly. “I just realised that Gringotts break-in happened on the same day we were all there. That’s where you were going when we bumped into you.”

“What?” Hagrid asked, sounding distracted. “Oh...no, I think it happened the day after.”

Harry shook his head, showing him the article. “No, see, it happened on my birthday, that’s why you bought me Hedwig, remember? Wow, you could have walked right past the thief without even realising!”

He laughed like this was a funny coincidence, but Hagrid was suddenly refusing to meet their eyes. 

* * *

The next Monday, Harry announced his intention to go and watch the Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs, which would be taking place on Wednesday afternoon. As first-years, they were too young to have their own brooms at school, but he and Ron were both keen fans of the sport and since they had to stay up late for Astronomy anyway, they wanted to show support, and asked Neville if he wanted to come. 

Neville did not know the first thing about Quidditch. Augusta didn’t have much interest in it, so he hadn’t been around it growing up. Besides, he’d already agreed to meet the Hufflepuffs on Wednesday afternoon so they could work on their Herbology essays, and if he was being honest, he’d much rather be doing that. 

However, when their Wednesday morning Herbology class rolled around, the first thing the Hufflepuffs did was ask if he could push it back to Thursday. 

“We’ve got double Potions with the Ravenclaws tomorrow morning,” Ernie said. “Terry and Michael wanted to get together and finish Slughorn’s homework on Forgetfulness Potions, and that’s due sooner. Do you want to come?”

Unfortunately Neville had already finished that homework last night with Hermione, so he had no good reason to go. When he noticed Harry and Ron gearing up to head down to the Quidditch pitch, he asked if he could tag along after all. They’d be starting flying lessons soon anyway, so it might be good to see the players in action. 

“Fred and George were on the team last year,” Ron explained as they walked. “And my brother Charlie was Captain, but he’s graduated now.”

“It said on the noticeboard that they’re looking for a new Seeker and a Chaser,” Harry added. “I hope the new Seeker’s rubbish so I can replace him next year.”

“Lucky you,” Ron said glumly. “I’m only good at Keeper and Wood’s the new Captain. He’s not gonna be stepping down any time soon.”

Neville tried to act like he knew what any of those terms were. Thankfully, Harry and Ron got severe tunnel vision whenever they talked about Quidditch, so all he had to do was nod and hum with interest. 

When they reached the pitch, the try-outs had already started; Wood, the Captain, was up in the air with Madam Hooch addressing a small assembly of people on broomsticks while the existing team members hung back. Neville noticed that only a handful of students had shown up to try out, most of them second-years. 

They made their way up to one of the spectator stands, where Professor McGonagall was also watching the try-outs with interest. Neville wondered what she was doing there, before remembering that she was their Head of House. 

One by one, the prospective players took turns carrying a large red ball and trying to shoot it through the goal hoops. Despite not knowing the first thing about flying, Neville could tell that most of them weren’t very good—or maybe Wood was just an exceptionally good Keeper. Only one girl managed to get the ball past him. Harry and Ron, who were leaning quite far over the railing, whooped with glee when this happened, only to be ordered back to their seats by McGonagall. 

Once each player had had their turn, Wood turned his broom toward where they were, coming to a hover next to McGonagall. 

“It’s not a great turnout, Professor,” he said, sounding worried. “No-one even tried out for Seeker. Now that Charlie’s gone nobody wants to fill his shoes.”

“We will simply have to place another notice,” McGonagall said, although she, too, sounded worried. “Without a Seeker Gryffindor won’t be able to play at all, and the rest of the team is excellent.”

“Johnson said she could have a go at it if nobody else tried out, but she’s too good a Chaser to lose. Besides, that just makes us a Chaser short instead of a Seeker; that Bell girl’s the only one with any talent.”

Remembering what Harry had said earlier about wanting to play Seeker, Neville turned to see what he thought about all this—but Harry was no longer there. He was clambering down the stands to get to where Wood and Professor McGonagall were talking, leaping over the banister and almost tripping over the seats in his haste. “Wait, Professor!” he gasped, slamming inelegantly into the front railing as he came to a halt, panting. “Professor—Wood—I can play Seeker!”

Wood and McGonagall had very different reactions. McGonagall raised her eyebrows and said, “You, Potter?” while Wood broke into a massive grin and said, “Really?”

Harry straightened up. “Yes! I always play Seeker when I’m at home. Just give me a chance.”

“We’ve seen him play, Wood,” called George, who had come over with the rest of the team and the newly-instated Katie Bell to see what all the fuss was about. “He’s good.”

Wood looked down at Harry and then up at McGonagall. “It can’t hurt to let him try out, can it Professor? Your name’s Potter, right? Have you got a broom?”

“I’ve got a Nimbus Two-Thousand,” Harry said proudly, “but it’s back home in London. I can ask my godfather to send it up before the first game, though. Please, Professor?” he begged, looking wide-eyed up at Professor McGonagall. 

Considering she was such a stickler for the rules, Neville was quite surprised when she simply gave Harry a faint smile and said, “Very well, Mr. Potter. If Wood finds you a suitable Seeker I will speak to Professor Dumbledore about bending the rules and allowing you to have a broomstick. I  _ would  _ like to see the Quidditch Cup in my office again. But Potter,” she added, her tone becoming serious, “I hope you understand that this means there  _ cannot  _ be any more incidents like the one at the Sorting Ceremony.”

And so a few minutes later, Harry was zooming up into the air while George, who had lent Harry his broomstick for the try-outs, sat down next to Ron and Neville. 

“Who’d have thought, eh, Ronniekins?” George said to Ron, who was staring enviously up at Harry. “Our Harry, the youngest Quidditch player in a century.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Neville said. “How do you and Harry know each other, Ron?” They’d obviously met before the Hogwarts Express.

George answered. “Oh, Harry? He’s our brother from another mother. And father. An entirely different set of relatives, really.”

“He stays with us sometimes when his godfather’s away,” Ron said, finally tearing his eyes away from Harry, who was in the process of catching a golf ball that Wood had thrown at him. 

“You wouldn’t have recognised him when we first met him, though,” George added. “Real shy sort.”

As they watched Harry fly, it was immediately clear that the try-out was just a formality. Neville didn’t need to know much about flying to know that Harry was a natural. And so it was that he touched back down on top of the stand as the new Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, beaming. 

“I thought for sure McGonagall was going to say no,” Neville said, as the three of them made their way off the pitch. 

“Nah,” Ron said. “She wants Gryffindor to win even more than Wood does.”

Harry was positively preening, but he at least made a token effort to appear modest. “I can’t wait to tell Padfoot,” he said, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair to ruffle it up. “My dad was on the team when they were at Hogwarts—he played Chaser. It was lucky nobody else was trying out, really. I had to ask, though, didn’t I?”

“Wood’d be mad to say no,” Ron said, his jealousy apparently gone. 

Dinner had already started when they reached the Great Hall. Harry and Ron ate as quickly as possible before running back to the common room to get some rest before Astronomy, which didn’t start until midnight. Neville went to sit with Hermione, who was almost finished eating while poring over a very large library book. 

“Oh, Neville,” she said, looking up when he arrived. “I want to practice Levitation Charms before we start them in class. Do you want to meet in the common room after class tomorrow?”

“I’m meeting the Hufflepuffs in the library to do our Herbology essays, but I’m free tonight until Astronomy,” he said, although he doubted Hermione actually needed his help, considering her charms were usually perfect on the first few tries. He sometimes got the distinct impression that her asking him for help practicing spells was actually just a very tactful way of offering to help  _ him. _ Not that he could blame her, considering he was the worst in their class. 

“I was going to finish the essay tonight,” she said thoughtfully, closing her book. “But I suppose I could swap them around. Alright, I just need to go to the library before it closes. Can you get back to the common room on your own?”

Neville felt a little embarrassed by the fact that she had asked, but he’d be the first to admit he had a track record of getting lost. “Yeah, I’ll be alright,” he said, starting to pile his plate with food. He knew his way to the common room pretty reliably by now. “I’ll see you later, then.”

The tables were mostly empty by the time Neville had left. He started down a corridor to head back to Gryffindor tower, only to realise it was leading him down to the dungeons where the Potions classrooms were and backtrack. So much for knowing his way back to the common room. He had just spotted the correct hallway leading away from the Great Hall when he heard the sound of another voice coming toward him and his heart sank.

“I can’t believe they even let him try out,” Draco Malfoy was fuming. “He should be expelled, and yet they go and reward him by making him Seeker.”

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had just exited the Great Hall and were walking straight toward him. Not wanting to be caught alone with them, Neville looked frantically around, spotting a wooden door a few feet in front of him and pulling it open. He dived inside just in time.

Despite the fact that Madam Pomfrey could probably have cured it in about a second, Malfoy had been sporting a black eye ever since their first day, which he was using as a constant excuse to garner sympathy or complain about Harry, two of his favourite pastimes. Evidently, the news of Harry’s new Seeker status hadn’t wasted any time in getting around. Maybe Malfoy had seen the try-outs from one of the castle’s many windows. 

“It’s all because of Dumbledore, everyone knows he’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He’d let anyone study here, even…”

Malfoy’s voice was gradually getting quieter, so Neville didn’t get to hear exactly who Dumbledore would have let study at Hogwarts. That was probably a good thing because whatever Malfoy was saying was bound to have made Neville extremely angry. 

The room he had found himself in was a classroom full of mysterious artefacts that could only have belonged to Muggles—was this where they taught Muggle Studies? Neville did not have time to ponder it because he was just now realising that it was already occupied by something else. A piece of chalk was hovering in midair and writing rude works on the board, but as he watched, the grinning form of Peeves materialised around it. 

“Er,” Neville said.

“Why, it’s Rotten Master Longbottom!” Peeves cried in his obnoxious sing-song voice, obviously delighted. 

“I was just leaving,” Neville said. Hoping that Malfoy and his cronies were far enough now that they would not hear anything, he opened the door and bolted from the room just as a piece of chalk hit him square on the head. 

He’d hoped that Peeves would go back to whatever he was doing if he left, but clearly, running away had been a sign of weakness because the next thing he knew Peeves had materialised again, in between Neville and the correct hallway. “Leaving so soon?” he sang, lying on his side in midair.

“Go away, Peeves!” Neville snapped, but his Gryffindor bravery ended there and he sprinted off down a different corridor. Peeves cackled, giving chase while continuing to lob bits of chalk and on one occasion the entire chalk-duster at Neville’s head, with impressive accuracy.

Once he had gone far enough to lose him around a corner, Neville stopped, panting, to catch his breath. He glanced back around the corner. There was no sign of Peeves, but he may still be waiting for him to come back, knowing he’d need to backtrack if he wanted to get back to the common room. 

Neville looked in the other direction of the hallway he now found himself in. There were a lot of ways to the common room. If he could just find another Gryffindor, they should be able to point him in the right direction. It wasn’t yet so late that there wouldn’t be other students around. Tentatively, he set off down the hallway.

However, it quickly became apparent that he’d made a bad call. Neville had never been to this part of the castle before. He was still on the ground floor because he hadn’t gone up any stairs, so he couldn’t be anywhere near the Fat Lady’s painting. To make matters worse, he didn’t pass a single other student. Pretty soon, it would be late enough that if he was found wandering around he’d get in trouble for being out of the common room. The last thing he needed was detention, he’d been doing so well. His Gran was going to be so disappointed…

A sharp meow made him spin around and gasp upon recognising Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat and second pair of eyes. She was staring straight at him, but as he watched, she got up and trotted away, which could only mean she’d gone to get Filch. Neville’s heart started racing. Would Filch believe him if he said he’d been chased by Peeves? It wasn’t like Peeves would back him up, and there was no guarantee that Filch’s hatred of their resident poltergeist extended far enough that he’d let a student off the hook for breaking the rules. 

Panicking, he wrenched open the door to a nearby classroom and went inside, looking around for a hiding place. It didn’t look like this room had been used for teaching in a very long time; a thick layer of dust covered the desks, which were pushed to one side, and on the opposite wall was a very large, ornate mirror. Neville hurried over and crouched behind it just as he heard a grumbling voice say, “what is it, my sweet?” on the other side of the door.

As soon as he was hidden, Neville cursed himself for his stupidity. If he had just followed Mrs. Norris and found Filch first, he could have explained that he was lost and asked him for directions. But if Filch found him in here, hiding in an unused classroom with no plausible reason other than not wanting to get caught, there’d be absolutely no talking himself out of it. 

He held his breath as the door opened, and he heard Filch’s ragged breathing in the entrance as he scanned the room. Whatever he was looking for, however, he didn’t see it. He moved on a few moments later, muttering something under his breath. 

Neville exhaled, trying to calm his heartbeat. That was too close. He was still lost, of course, but maybe he’d be able to retrace his steps. Peeves must be gone by now. 

He walked back around the front of the mirror, preparing to leave, and almost fell over in alarm when he saw more than one person reflected in it. Neville scrambled back a few steps before he could really take in what he was seeing, but as soon as he was no longer standing in front of the mirror, the only reflection he could see was his own, round-faced and flustered, staring back at him from across the room. 

For the first time, Neville looked up at the inscription on the mirror’s gold frame.  _ Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.  _ Was it Latin? Hermione would probably know.

Glancing briefly over his shoulder, Neville took a nervous step forward, and again, more reflections appeared, but this time, he was not afraid. He recognised who they were. 

The man on the left was tall, with warm brown eyes and rather large ears reminiscent of Neville’s own. The woman on the right had short, blonde hair and a round face. Both of them were smiling. Behind them was a man that Neville recognised with a pang as his grandfather, who had died four years prior. Holding his hand was Augusta, but she was different. Not the stern, hardened woman who had dropped him off on the Hogwarts Express; here, she was laughing, her hair down and her vulture hat nowhere in sight. 

Neville had seen photographs of his parents, of course. There was currently one in a drawer beside his bed in Gryffindor Tower. He’d seen pictures of them holding him as a baby, but never...never like this. Standing next to his current eleven-year-old self as though they had been there all his life, and all he had to do was reach out and touch them. Unable to help himself, he looked over his shoulder once more, but of course, there was nobody there but him. Frank and Alice Longbottom had been dead almost ten years. 

Neville returned his gaze to the mirror. After a moment of watching their smiling faces, he extended a hand, brushing his fingers across the glass. The boy in the mirror standing between his parents reached out in return, but Neville wished he wouldn’t. Wished that he would get out of the way so he could reach past him and take their hands. Why weren’t they trying to get to him? Why did they just keep standing there?

He had no idea how long he stayed there, gazing hungrily into the mirror’s depths. It was definitely past curfew now, but a strange peacefulness had come over him. When he was finally broken from his reverie by the sound of a door opening at the end of the corridor outside, Neville steeled himself. 

He allowed himself one last look at the mirror, wondering if he would ever be able to find it again. Wondering if he  _ should _ . “I miss you,” he said softly, because he felt he must say something. 

The reflections of his family continued to smile, but made no other movement.

When Neville crept out of the room, he could still hear footsteps coming closer, but it was too dark to see who they belonged to. Would they have seen him coming out of the mirror room?

Surprisingly, he felt very unafraid at the prospect of being caught out of bounds. He had not done anything wrong, so he started toward the sound. “Hello?”

“Longbottom?” came the reply, just as the voice’s owner stepped into the light of a torch on the wall. “Thank goodness, Granger was worried when you didn’t come back.”

The voice belonged to Percy Weasley, and Neville hurried over. “I’m really sorry, Peeves started chasing me after dinner and by the time I threw him off I had no idea where I was.”

“Yes, the Bloody Baron got Peeves to tell him what happened.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s after curfew,” Percy said curtly, but at least it was no more curtly than anything else Percy usually said. He didn’t ask for an explanation as to what he had been doing all this time; apparently Neville’s reputation for getting lost was enough of an alibi. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure the teachers know it’s not your fault. I’ve been saying it for years but I do think it’s about time Professor Dumbledore did something about Peeves. A school is no place for a poltergeist.”

Percy led him back up several flights of stairs until they were standing before the Fat Lady’s portrait. Once inside, Neville was instantly accosted by a mass of curly hair. 

“Oh, Neville!” Hermione cried, hugging him. “I’m so sorry, I should have waited at dinner!”

“‘Salright,” Neville said awkwardly. It wasn’t like she would have been able to get rid of Peeves herself, and if it weren’t for him, Neville would have found the common room just fine. “Sorry I missed Charms practice.”

“Oh, that’s alright, Professor Sinistra won’t be here for two hours anyway, so there’s still time if you—but wait, that doesn’t matter,” Hermione cut herself off. “What happened? You’ve been gone for hours.”

“I—” Neville was suddenly hit with a desire not to mention the mirror in front of Percy. As calm as he had felt when he first left its room, now that he’d had time his old anxiety was back, and he knew that he wasn’t supposed to have been in there. “I was just really lost.”

Neville noticed that Harry and Ron were still in the common room as well. A wizarding chess board was set up on one of the tables, but it had clearly been ignored for some time, because all of the pieces were sitting in a circle drinking tea. “Peeves has really got it in for you, you know,” Ron said.

“I think he can smell fear,” Neville admitted. 

Percy left to return to his prefect rounds, leaving the four of them alone in the common room. 

“We wanted to use the Cloak and go looking for you,” Ron added, earning himself a glare from Hermione, “but—”

“It’s the middle of the night, Weasley!” Hermione huffed. “The last thing we needed was for Percy to come back with Neville and for me to have to tell him that the two of you were missing instead!”

“Listen,” Neville said before they could start arguing, “I need to tell you about this mirror I found while I was hiding from Peeves.”

Everyone turned to look at him again with interest. Neville started at the beginning, from passing Malfoy to running into Peeves to ending up in the abandoned classroom. All three of them were watching him with fascination as he described standing in front of the mirror and seeing his parents and grandparents.

“So this mirror,” Harry said, “It shows you your family?” There was no mistaking the longing in his voice.

“I think so,” Neville said. “It showed me my Gran, but she was happier. I haven’t seen her laugh since before my Granddad died.”

“Do you think you could find it again?” Harry asked.

“No, he can’t!” Hermione interrupted. “Classrooms are out of bounds except during lessons. Neville wasn’t supposed to find it in the first place! Not that I blame you,” she added hurriedly to Neville. “But there’s a difference between finding it by accident and searching it out. If it’s hidden, it could be dangerous.”

“It’s not like it hurt me,” Neville mumbled.

But Hermione would not hear any more of it, so they had no choice but to move on. Neville knew he would not be able to fall asleep in time for it to be worth napping before Astronomy, so he stayed in the common room. Ron and Harry returned to their chess game, and Hermione tried to distract Neville with Levitation Charms, but no matter how many times he tried, he could not get the textbook they were practicing on to move, even after Hermione had managed to get it to float off the table and fly around the room. His mind was elsewhere, in an abandoned classroom where he could see his family, alive and happy. Eventually, the other first-years started to pad, yawning, down from their dormitories, and at ten minutes to midnight, Professor Sinistra arrived to escort them to the Astronomy tower. 

* * *

After that, school life fell into a routine. Neville managed to mostly avoid getting lost again by sticking to the most common corridors and never being the last Gryffindor to leave the dining table. Everything was going quite well until the notice appeared that they would be starting flying lessons. His heart sank as soon as he saw it. To make matters worse it was another class with the Slytherins; Malfoy had become increasingly insufferable as the term went on, especially after Harry was picked for the Quidditch team. The morning after the notice was posted, he scoffed loudly as he passed Harry in the corridors, saying, “Why does the amazing Gryffindor Seeker even need flying lessons? Worried you’ll get struck by lightning?”

Still, at least Neville had seen Harry flying a lot by now. He might be able to scrape by if he copied what he did.

No such luck, of course. No sooner had they mounted their broomsticks than Neville had shot far too high into the air and promptly fallen off, landing awkwardly on top of his hand and breaking his wrist. He tried to choke back a whimper as the Slytherins howled with laughter.

Madam Hooch rushed over in horror, carefully examining his wrist before declaring that he would need to go to the hospital wing. Neville burned with shame, already imagining what Malfoy would say as soon as he was gone. (“The great Boy Who Lived can’t even sit on a broom for five seconds without breaking something? What a joke.”) 

Neville hadn’t been to the hospital wing yet, although he’d seen the matron, Madam Pomfrey, at meal times. She hurried over as soon as they entered, shooing Madam Hooch away and placing a goblet of foul-tasting potion in his hands after she’d assessed the damage. 

He had to eat dinner in the hospital wing, sent up from the kitchens in the same way it was sent to the Great Hall. This wouldn’t have been so bad if not for the fact that it was dark by the time he was allowed to leave. With a sinking feeling, Neville resigned himself to getting lost again, but as it turned out, he was able to find the Fat Lady’s portrait with relative ease.

“Password?” she asked, sounding bored.

“Er—” Wait, he knew this. “ _ Caput draconis _ ,” he said with confidence.

The Fat Lady gave him a quelling look. “That was last week’s password. What’s the new password?”

“Um—” Neville wracked his brain desperately. “Look, you know me, don’t you? I’ve been coming here for weeks now.”

“No password, no entry. Those are the rules, dear,” she said. “You’ll just have to wait for somebody else.”

That couldn’t take long, right? The older students were often getting back late, and if one of the Gryffindor prefects had night duty they’d have to come out again. Sitting down on the floor next to the painting, Neville wished he’d brought a book. 

He waited, but nobody returned to the common room, and nobody came out of it. Soon it was once again well past lights-out, but that was the least of his worries; the Fat Lady would attest that he’d tried to get in on time, even if she was stubbornly refusing to let him do so. However, this late, the shadows of the castle seemed longer. More than once, the Bloody Baron drifted past, staring at him wretchedly but saying nothing. 

He had no idea how late it was when he finally nodded off, slumping down on the floor beneath the painting. He just knew that he was suddenly being woken up when somebody stepped on his leg. He sat up with a start.

“Longbottom?” said a surprised voice, which Neville realised with relief was just Percy. “It’s after midnight. What are you doing out here?”

“I’m sorry!” Neville said, scrambling to his feet to make room while Percy finished climbing out of the portrait hole. “I forgot the password to get back in, and nobody else came along.”

“You’ve been out here all this time?” Percy asked, horrified, helping him back through the entrance. “The password’s “pig snout”. Don’t forget it next time.”

“Pig snout, pig snout,” Neville muttered to himself once he was making his way back up to his dormitory.

To his surprise, he could hear hushed voices when he reached it. They quickly went quiet when he entered, but then a hand peeled back the curtain on Harry’s bed, to reveal him and Ron, who were sitting cross-legged on top of it swapping Chocolate Frog cards. “Neville!” Ron whispered. “We thought you were spending the night in the hospital wing.”

“Madam Pomfrey fixed my hand in about a minute, but I couldn’t remember the password to get back in,” replied Neville glumly, slumping onto his bed and kicking off his shoes.

It was a little dark to be sure, but he thought he saw Harry and Ron exchange guilty looks. “I’ve got your ball thingy,” Harry said then, fumbling around on the table next to his bed until he found what he was looking for. He tossed it to Neville, who missed it, but it landed on his bed and he saw it was the Remembrall he’d gotten from his Gran that morning. Neville patted his pockets, frowning.

“Oh—thank you. I hadn’t realised I’d lost it. That’s a bad sign, huh?” He gave an embarrassed laugh, putting the Remembrall on top of his bedside table. “Where was it?”

“It fell out of your pocket when you were flying, but wait ‘til you hear what happened next,” Ron said excitedly. 

“Yeah, Malfoy tried to take it,” Harry said. “Flew off with it and everything—we weren’t supposed to use our brooms while Madam Hooch was gone, but I chased after him and got it back. Only, McGonagall saw me flying unsupervised,” he added, cringing.

“What happened?” Neville asked. If Harry had gotten in trouble on his account—

“I was worried she was going to expel me or throw me off the Quidditch team,” Harry said grimly. “But she just let me off with a warning.”

“She must  _ really _ want Gryffindor to win,” Ron chortled. 

“Except, Malfoy was furious,” Harry added. “He wanted me to get in trouble.”

“Bit rich, since he went flying first,” Ron muttered.

“But then—” Harry continued.

“You’ll like this—” Ron grinned.

“He challenged me to a wizard duel!”

Both boys snickered.

Neville stared at them in alarm. “Malfoy challenged Harry to a duel?” he asked, not understanding why this was funny. “You didn’t say yes, did you?”

“You’re joking, right?” Ron asked. “Of course he said yes!”

“Well then…” Neville trailed off. “When are you meeting him?”

“Oh, we were supposed to meet him—” Harry checked the time. “—about twenty minutes ago, I reckon.”

“You’re not going?” Neville asked.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Look, I’ve known Draco Malfoy for years. He never does anything one-on-one. He probably just wanted Filch to catch us out of bounds. Either he was never planning on meeting us, and there’s no harm done, or he  _ was _ planning on meeting us, and he’s waiting alone in the trophy room all night like a loser.”

“I hope Filch thinks he’s a liar!” Ron whispered excitedly. 

“Hermione was really mad, though,” Harry said sheepishly. “She was halfway into threatening to tell Percy before we could tell her we weren’t actually going.”

Neville wondered if Malfoy would be mad tomorrow that Harry hadn't shown. It wasn’t like he could report it to a teacher. 

Neville changed into his pyjamas while Ron returned to his own bed and Harry put the cards away. Ron was quick to pull the curtains closed and shut his eyes, but Harry hesitated, looking at Neville and leaning across the space separating their beds. 

“Hey Neville,” he whispered, quiet enough that only the two of them could hear. “I was thinking of going out with the Cloak tomorrow night to try and find that room with the mirror. Do you want to come?”

Neville strongly suspected that this would not be Harry’s first attempt at finding the mirror. There were a couple of times last week where he thought he’d heard him creeping out of the dorm, but this was the first time he’d asked for Neville’s help.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Neville said hesitantly. “I don’t really want to get caught out of bounds again.”

“But don’t you want to see your parents again?” Harry asked, disappointed.

“I mean, yeah, but…” Neville paused.

It wasn’t like the mirror hadn’t occupied his thoughts ever since that first night he found it. Seeing his parents and granddad alive, seeing his grandmother carefree and laughing. But...he could see pictures of them whenever he wanted, and that’s all the mirror was. Pictures. He had spent hours in front of them and all they had done was smile and wave. They did not talk to him or offer advice or do the things that parents should do. It seemed as though the mirror had been placed there to test him. Tempt him into taking risks. 

“...It’s not real, Harry,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t go, it’ll just make you sad.”

Here, Harry suddenly straightened up. “I can decide that for myself,” he said, loud enough that Neville worried he might wake the others. “ _ You _ got to see it.”

“Yeah, so trust me,” Neville said, suddenly annoyed. “I think Hermione was right. It’s hidden for a reason.”

Harry didn’t answer. He rolled over so he had his back to Neville and let the curtain of his bed hide him from sight. 


	3. Nicolas Flamel

The days drew on, and Hogwarts welcomed the crisp autumn air and the approach of Halloween with elaborate decorations. On the 30th of October, they saw Hagrid carrying a cart full of the largest pumpkins anyone had ever seen up to the castle. The next morning, the most delicious smell of pumpkin and cinnamon was wafting throughout the castle as they made their way down to lessons, a promise of what was to come at the feast tonight. By the time everyone started making their way down for dinner, they had little else on their minds. 

The Great Hall looked spectacular; thousands of bats fluttered about, while floating candles and jack-o-lanterns cast the giant room in warm but slightly eerie light. The feast itself appeared magically on the plates, and Neville had to pause to take it all in.

He looked up and down the Gryffindor table and spotted Harry and Ron sitting down near one end. Neville went to join them. “Hey,” he said. “How about all this, right?”

“Fred and George said it was good, but this is a thousand times better than I thought,” Ron said, heaping his plate with potatoes.

“Have you guys seen Hermione?” Neville asked, sitting down. “I haven’t seen her since Charms and she was really excited to finally start that levitation spell.”

Here, Ron froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, looking very contrite. Harry’s mouth formed a thin line, and Ron muttered something that sounded like “I dunno.”

Across the table, Parvati leaned forward to talk to him. “We saw her in the bathrooms on our way down,” she said. “I asked her if she was coming to the feast but she said she wanted to be alone. I think she was crying.”

Neville frowned, wondering what could have upset Hermione enough to miss the feast. Next to him, Ron started uncomfortably shovelling potatoes into his mouth, and Neville couldn’t help but wonder if maybe something had happened between him and Hermione. 

Neville had been on good terms with both parties since they arrived. Until right now, it hadn’t really registered with him that they didn’t get along quite so well with each other. Hermione could be bossy, and placed quite a lot of stock in following the rules and getting good grades. In Neville’s case, that was a good thing because it kept him from falling behind, but now that he thought about it, she did butt heads with Harry and Ron sometimes. 

It wasn’t long, however, before they all had something else on their minds entirely. There was a sound of a door opening and slamming against the wall; everyone turned to watch as Professor Quirrell stumbled into the Great Hall, his eyes frantic and his turban askew as he sprinted between the House tables to where Dumbledore was seated.

“Troll,” he gasped. “In the dungeons—thought you out to know—”

Then he collapsed.

All through the Great Hall, the House tables erupted into chaos. 

Dinner plates lay abandoned as students scrambled to their feet, wanting to get out before everyone else. When Dumbledore shot sparks from his wand, however, everyone fell silent as they were calmly instructed to follow their House Prefects back to their dormitories in an orderly manner. 

Neville was the first to hurry over to Percy, not wanting to take any chances with getting separated from the other first-years. They started up toward Gryffindor Tower; all around him, people were whispering.

“A real troll? In Hogwarts?”

“How did it get in?”

“Poor Professor Quirrell, someone will have to take him to Madam Pomfrey. He’ll probably need a sleeping draught just to calm down.”

Neville glanced over his shoulder while they walked. They were passing in between crowds of other students heading in a different direction. Harry and Ron were at the very back of the line, talking animatedly to each other. 

And then a group of Hufflepuffs pushed their way in between the Gryffindor line, and by the time they cleared, Harry and Ron were gone.

Neville glanced around frantically, wondering how they’d gotten separated—and then spotted Ron’s distinctive red hair amongst the Hufflepuffs, very deliberately heading in the other direction.

What did they think they were doing? Neville made to run after them, only to be halted by Percy. 

“Wait, Longbottom—it’s this way. Stay close to me.”

“But—” Neville turned back, trying to spot Harry and Ron again. “Harry and Ron, I can’t see them.”

“Ron?” Percy asked, a note of worry in his voice as he glanced over the assembled Gryffindors. “You’re sure they were at the feast?”

“I’m positive. I was sitting with them.”

Percy looked around as well, but the other groups of students had cleared away by now. There was no sign of Harry or Ron. There were also no other Prefects around; the other Gryffindors were escorting the other year levels and had gone on ahead. Percy groaned. “If they’ve tried to go and see the troll I swear—alright, I need to get you back to the dormitory as soon as possible. This way, and quickly, please.”

They were already halfway up to the tower, and as soon as they arrived, Percy gave the password and instructed them all to wait inside before rushing off to find a teacher. Neville, however, did not want to wait in the common room for somebody to come and tell him everything was fine. He had a feeling he knew what Harry and Ron were doing, and it was not sneaking into the dungeon to see the troll. They had to have gone looking for Hermione. Would they get to her in time? The troll might have been in the dungeon when Quirrell saw it, but it could be anywhere in the castle by now. 

Percy had gone to tell a teacher. That meant everything would be okay. Right? Of course, the teachers would look for Harry and Ron in the dungeons, not the girls bathrooms which were on the second floor. Neville shifted his weight anxiously from side to side, his mind spiralling with all the horrible things that could be happening to his friends. 

His parents would not have waited in the common room. His parents would have acted, and Gran was always telling him to live by their example. In the end it was with that thought in mind that he went hurtling out of the portrait hole just as Lavender was about to close it. He briefly heard her say, “Neville? Where are you going?” 

Blood was rushing in his ears while he hurtled down the many flights of stairs leading down through the castle. He was already wondering what he could possibly do if he actually met a troll, but he’d committed now. He counted the steps until he thought he’d reached the second floor, and then rushed off down the corridor. 

It was completely deserted: all of the students were back in their dorms by now while the teachers were, presumably, down in the dungeons. 

Neville didn’t recognise any of the doors. He didn’t have any classes on this floor, so the whole place was unfamiliar. Still, there was no sign of the troll, so if Harry, Ron and Hermione _were_ here, at least they weren’t in any danger. 

Then he heard a horrible sound from behind one of the doors to his right. The sound of something very large moving, followed by a yell of pain and what sounded like—barking? Neville’s blood ran cold. The door was slightly ajar. Hands trembling, he reached toward it and pulled it open. 

Somebody came staggering out of it at the same time he did so; with a start, Neville recognised Professor Quirrell. He went toppling backwards, turban askew, as though he had expected to fall against the door but, finding it open, fell back onto the floor in a heap. Quirrell, however, was the last thing on Neville’s mind, because through the door in front of him was the most monstrous dog he had ever seen; its head alone filled the entire door frame as it bit and snarled, snapping at Quirrell’s feet and trying climb through after him. A second later, the head withdrew, and Neville could see the rest of the dog in the room beyond; three heads, equally huge, filled his vision, before another one lunged at the door frame and replaced the first. 

Neville froze, but only for a second. He grabbed Quirrell by the fabric of his robes and dragged him about a foot back from the doorway. Then he seized his wand and pointed it at the door, his mind going back to the first spell he’d seen Hermione perform. “C- _Colloportus!_ ” he bellowed. 

To Neville’s surprise, the spell did exactly what he’d wanted it to do; the door slammed shut, forcing the dog’s head back through the opening before the lock clicked into place. For a moment there came the sound of banging against the wood as the enormous animal continued its assault before finally giving up. 

Neville slumped against the wall opposite the door to catch his breath, while Quirrell cowered on the floor with his back to Neville, rocking in place. “F- f- forgive me, p- please,” he moaned. 

“What was that thing, Professor?” Neville asked nervously. 

Quirrell went still, and then—

“Agh!” Neville gasped, swaying with the pain that suddenly shot through his forehead. There was no mistaking it this time; it was right over his scar. He clutched his head with the hand that was still holding his wand.

Then Quirrell spun around, and instantly the pain was gone. Quirrell looked at him with something resembling shock. “You!” he cried. 

“I’m—I’m sorry, I got separated from my class—” Neville said, hoping that Quirrell wouldn’t find out from Percy that he’d successfully made it all the way to the common room only to deliberately backtrack. 

Quirrell was standing up now, straightening his turban. Neville noticed that one of his legs was bleeding. “N- no, of c- course,” he said. “I’m s- sorry you had to see such a t- terrible creature. Wh- what are you doing here? This corridor is out of b- bounds.”

It was in that moment that Neville realised why he hadn’t recognised this floor; it was not the second floor at all, but the third. This was the forbidden corridor. “Oh!” he said, horrified. “I’m sorry, Professor, I got—I got lost, I—”

Quirrell winced. “W- well, there’s no harm d- done, is there? B- best run along, then.”

Casting one last nervous look at the door which concealed that monstrous dog, Neville hurried back toward the main staircase. The whole way, he could have sworn he felt Quirrell’s eyes burning into him. 

Neville had almost forgotten about the troll, but it returned to his mind once he reached the stairs, because there was somebody else coming up it. With a rush of relief, he realised it was Hermione.

She looked incredibly frazzled; her hair had bits of wood stuck in it and she was trembling quite considerably. She jumped when Neville called out to her, but quickly relaxed upon recognising him. “Neville!” she gasped. “There was a troll, in the bathrooms—Harry and Ron—they saved my life!”

Neville inhaled sharply. “They—what happened?”

“Let’s keep walking, I’m supposed to go straight back to the common room but I’ll explain on the way,” she said, touching his arm and starting up the stairs again.

Neville was bursting to tell Hermione about the dog and Quirrell’s strange behaviour, but he doubted he’d be able to explain it well in his current state, so he let her talk first; the troll had found her alone in the girl’s bathroom and Harry and Ron had arrived just in the nick of time. Harry had distracted it while Ron had managed to knock it out using, of all things, a well-placed Levitation Charm. 

“They were really brave,” Hermione said softly, just as they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait. “But they knew about the troll already—what happened? How did it get in?”

“I’m not sure,” Neville said, while they climbed into the common room. “Quirrell came during the middle of the Halloween feast and warned everyone, but then he fainted. Only I saw him just now, Hermione, he—”

He could not go any further because as soon as they were inside the common room, crowds of students had gathered around them and were firing off questions. 

“What’s happening out there?”

“Did you see the troll?”

“Why’d you run off, Neville?”

The remaining food from the feast had been sent up to the common rooms. Students were sitting in close-knit circles as they chatted excitedly about the evening’s events. A few were carrying plates up to their dormitories. Hermione refused to answer any questions, instead sitting down next to the door to wait for Harry and Ron. Neville joined her. He was just about to launch into Quirrell and the three-headed dog when the portrait opened one last time, and Harry and Ron were clamoring through. 

They froze upon seeing Hermione, and then looked down awkwardly. All three of them mumbled something that sounded like “thanks”.

“It was wicked,” Ron said as they sat down to eat. They hadn’t been able to find space downstairs, so the four of them had headed up to the boys’ dorm, which was otherwise empty. They sat in the space between Harry and Ron’s beds with their backs propped against the sides and their plates on their laps. “I thought we were done for, but Harry jumped onto it’s back and stuck his wand up its nose!”

“That was actually an accident,” Harry said. “I bet my wand smells of troll bogeys for the rest of the year.”

“Listen,” said Neville, who had been trying to pick up a lull in the conversation ever since Harry and Ron got back. “I need to—”

“—Well, it worked,” Ron said to Harry. “Blimey, I’m never zoning out in Charms again, though. Who’d have thought that Wingardium Leviosa spell, right? _Wingardium Leviosa._ ” He poked his slice of pumpkin pie with his wand. It started to float, and Ron attempted to bite it out of the air, but the moment he leaned toward it it shot forward and landed in Hermione’s lap. 

“I went down the forbidden corridor!” Neville announced. “And Quirrell was there!”

Immediately, Harry and Ron went silent. They and Hermione turned to look at him sharply. “Professor Quirrell?” Ron asked blankly. “But I thought he went to the hospital wing!”

“Well, he didn’t,” Neville said. “I went looking for you three, but I got off on the wrong level and ended up in the third floor corridor. That’s where I saw Quirrell. He was in this room, and there was this dog…”

Finally holding their attention, Neville began to explain everything that had happened since Harry and Ron had run away after the feast. Seeing the door, Quirrell coming out of it, the dog…

“Maybe he got lost on the way to the hospital wing?” Harry suggested. “I could see him doing that, he was really shaken from seeing the troll.”

“Yeah, but you’d have to be _pretty_ lost. The hospital wing’s two floors down,” Ron pointed out. 

Harry frowned, thinking. 

“Even if he was,” said Hermione, “that still doesn’t explain what a giant three-headed dog would be doing in a school in the first place!”

“Well, it’s definitely the reason the third floor’s out of bounds,” Neville said. “You should’ve seen it, its heads were so big they couldn’t even fit through the door.” He shuddered. 

“Maybe it’s stuck there,” Harry suggested. “The corridor’s closed until they can figure out how to get rid of it.”

“Well, Quirrell _is_ the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Ron pointed out. “What if he went there to try and kill it?”

“While all the other teachers were off trying to fight a troll?” Hermione asked skeptically. “I don’t see how it’s possible Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to get rid of the dog if he wanted to. It must be there on purpose.”

“Maybe it’s for advanced Care of Magical Creatures,” Harry said. “You know, for them to...practice on?”

“Then why’s it a secret?” Neville said. “And why keep it in the castle?”

“Unless…” Hermione paused.

Everyone turned to look at her, but she didn’t continue, at least not right away. “It’s just a thought,” she said at last, “but what if it’s guarding something?”

The boys exchanged glances. “Guarding something?” Harry asked. “Like what?”

“I have no idea,” Hermione admitted. “But whatever it is couldn’t have been at Hogwarts last-year because the dog wasn’t here then. The corridor being out of bounds is new.”

“Does it really matter _why_ the dog is there?” Neville asked, picking at his pumpkin pie. “I just want to make sure I never see it again.”

Ron suddenly gasped. “If the dog _is_ guarding something, then maybe Quirrell was trying to steal it!” 

Neville thought back to Quirrell’s odd behaviour while the others continued theorising. 

“Steal it?” Hermione asked, suddenly incredulous. “Come on, Ron, he’s a teacher.”

“So?” Ron asked. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “What if he let the troll in as a diversion so he could try and sneak past the dog?”

“It _was_ him that told everyone about it,” Ron added.

“Maybe he was just checking it was secure while all the other teachers were downstairs?” suggested Hermione. 

“I don’t think so,” said Neville quietly. “It didn’t look like he’d dealt with the dog much before. It bit him.”

Hermione opened her mouth like she was going to counter this, but then she closed it again, frowning. “It _is_ a bit suspicious,” she admitted.

“More than a bit,” Ron said, a note of excitement in his voice. “Wow, can you just imagine if we were the ones who stopped a robbery? We’d get a hundred points for sure. Do you think we should tell McGonagall?”

“But we don’t have any proof yet,” Hermione said. “Just the fact that Neville saw him in a corridor students aren’t even supposed to be in!”

“I didn’t go there on purpose!” Neville said. 

“We just need to _get_ some proof,” Harry continued. “I bet if we looked around in Quirrell’s office...we could use my dad’s Invisibility Cloak!”

“You will do no such thing, Harry Potter!” Hermione huffed. “Even if it wasn’t against the rules, Quirrell is the _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ teacher. I bet he’s got all kinds of dangerous stuff in there.”

“I doubt it,” Ron scoffed. “The bloke’s too nervous to keep anything scarier than a Puffskein.”

“But if Neville’s right, there may be more to him than meets the eye,” Hermione countered. “It’s just too much of a risk, and Neville agrees with me. Don’t you, Neville?” she asked, turning sharply to look at him.

“Er,” Neville said. 

He hadn’t even brought up the way his scar had hurt before when Quirrell had escaped the room with the dog. He wondered what they would say if he did. It had happened twice now, and both times Professor Quirrell had been involved. 

A part of him—a nervous, selfish part of him—didn’t want them to know, simply because he didn’t want to remind them of the thing that separated him from everyone else. He hated talking about his scar, and he didn’t want to bring it up. Not when he finally had friends who seemed to like him for the first time in his life. Besides, he’d already given them enough to think about.

“Look, I don’t really want to go poking around Professor Quirrell’s office,” he said, because that much was definitely true. “But...I think we should tell _somebody_ what I saw. What about Hagrid? I don’t reckon he’d get me in trouble for going to the third floor, he’d believe it was an accident.”

“Good idea,” Harry said. “Yeah, Hagrid will tell Dumbledore if he thinks it’s important. He might even know more about the dog, he does know a lot about magical creatures.”

Everyone muttered in agreement. 

* * *

Wood was keeping Harry very busy with Quidditch practice most afternoons, but Harry was insistent that he be able to come along when they went to talk to Hagrid. The opportunity came the following Friday afternoon when they had the afternoon off after Potions. They had to wrap up warm; even though it had not yet started to snow, a heavy chill had set in and frost covered the ground every morning. When they first knocked on the large wooden door of Hagrid’s hut, they thought he might have been out, but a few moments later there came a loud muffling followed by Hagrid pulling open the door. 

“Ah, you kids!” Hagrid said, sounding pleased to see them as he stepped aside to beckon them in. “Didn’t realise you were coming. Come in, I just put the kettle on.”

“Hi, Hagrid!” Harry said as the four of them entered the cabin. “Have you met Hermione? She’s our friend.”

“Seen yeh around,” Hagrid said, heading over to a small stove in the corner where a large brass kettle was starting to whistle. “Nice to meet yeh, how are yeh liking Hogwarts?”

Hermione beamed, clearly thrilled at being asked. “It’s wonderful!” she gushed. “I couldn’t believe it when I got my letter—my parents were thrilled—but I had to wait so long before I could actually start! I read all about the school while I was waiting—have you read _Hogwarts: A History_ by Bathilda Bagshot? It’s fascinating, all of the spells and enchantments placed on the school for protection…”

Hagrid looked quite taken aback at Hermione’s onslaught of enthusiasm, and he glanced nervously at Harry, Ron and Neville, all of whom shrugged. 

“Well, I’m glad yer enjoying yerself,” Hagrid said. “Everyone always wishes they had more time here—and don’t worry,” he added, bringing over a bunch of cups and placing one in front of each guest, “there’s still plenty of Hogwarts left fer you to discover that yeh won’t read about in any book.”

“Like three-headed dogs, for instance?” Harry asked cheerfully. 

The cup which Hagrid was passing to Ron dropped and shattered. “Are you talkin’ about Fluffy?” he asked, gaping.

All four of them exchanged glances. “Um, Fluffy?” Neville asked.

“This is the dog in the third floor corridor?” Ron asked. 

“Yeah, he’s mine,” Hagrid said, scraping the pieces of broken cup into his hand. “I bought him off a Greek chappie in the pub last year. But you shouldn’t know anything about that.”

“It was an accident,” Neville said hurriedly.

“Yeah, Neville got lost and ended up there by mistake,” Harry said. “Neville, tell Hagrid what you told us.”

Feeling embarrassed from the attention, Neville recounted the events leading up to his encounter with Fluffy while Hagrid brought Ron a new cup and poured out the tea. He omitted the part about his scar hurting. By the time he’d finished, Hagrid had joined them at the table and was listening with a hardened expression.

“So you see!” Harry said, taking over again as soon as Neville had finished. “We think Fluffy’s guarding something, and Professor Quirrell is trying to steal whatever it is! Why else go while everyone else was distracted by the troll?”

Hagrid set down his tea. “Listen,” he said, “I know you all mean well, and it was good of yeh to come ter me, but you have to trust me that this don’t concern you.”

Neville felt his heart sink. Hagrid didn’t even think it was important? Clearly, Harry’s mind went in the same direction, because he straightened up and said, “But Hagrid—”

“Alright,” he said, “if it’ll keep yeh from sticking your noses where they don’t belong, we staff already know that Professor Quirrell went up to the third floor on Halloween. He told Madam Pomfrey as much when he turned up in the hospital wing with that leg. Although he didn’t mention meeting you, Neville,” Hagrid added. “I expect he mighta been covering for yeh being out of bounds.”

“Oh,” Neville said.

“But why go up there in the first place?” Hermione asked. 

“Yeah,” Ron said. “We all thought he was going to the hospital wing.”

Hagrid sighed. “When he realised the troll had left the dungeon he went up to the third floor to check on Fluffy. If the troll had gotten up there and damaged the door, well, you can imagine how that might’ve gone south. Look,” Hagrid continued upon seeing their expressions of disbelief. “I know he might seem like a bag of loose screws now, but Professor Quirrell's done a lot for this school and Dumbledore wouldn’t’ve hired him if he didn’t trust him. He really is a great wizard. Unfortunately he just hadn’t counted on how good a guard dog Fluffy is. Nobody knows how to calm him down ‘cept me and Dumbledore.”

“So he _is_ guarding something,” Harry said. 

“What?” Hagrid suddenly looked very sheepish. “No, I didn’ say that.”

“What’s so important that you have to keep it hidden at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, unable to hide her curiosity. “Why not put it somewhere like Gringotts?”

“Gringotts got broken into, though,” Ron pointed out.

“Well—yes,” Hermione said. “But the vault was empty at the time. I’m sure if it wasn’t, there would have been better security.”

“That’s _enough_!” Hagrid interrupted. “This is top secret and it’s _dangerous_. You’re not to go around askin’ any more questions, you understand? It’s not yer concern, it’s between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel.” 

“Who’s Nicolas Flamel?” asked Neville, wondering if that was another teacher he hadn’t met. 

Hagrid spilt his tea. 

* * *

Soon, however, all thoughts of Fluffy and Nicolas Flamel were pushed to the back of their minds. Harry was at Quidditch practice for as many evenings per week as Wood could get away with booking the pitch, and with the end of the first term approaching, they had no shortage of homework. 

Neville was pleased to find that in Herbology, he was up with Hermione at the top of their class. His Potions marks weren’t bad either, although how much of that was due to Neville’s inherent skill as a potion-maker and how much was due to Slughorn paying particularly close attention to his progress, he wasn’t sure. Certainly, Neville didn’t have any more accidents like he had in their first lesson, and he found that he rather liked the consistency of Potions as opposed to subjects like Charms and Transfiguration. Provided he took the time to be careful and followed the instructions to the letter, the results were always predictable, and the simple wand spells required in Potions suited him much better than all of the confusing hand movements and incantations he had to remember for other types of magic. 

Professor Slughorn didn’t invite Neville or Harry to any more of his parties; they did seem to consist mainly of older students, so maybe he was waiting a few years to see how they turned out. Whatever the reason, Neville couldn’t help feeling relieved. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed the first one.

Despite the fact that Neville wanted nothing more to do with the dog in the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron and Hermione had quickly become obsessed with solving the mystery behind it, and as Neville was the only one who had actually seen it, he ended up involved anyway. They passed by the corridor as often as they could, checking to see if anyone else tried to go in, but it was always empty. 

The only other lead they had was the name Nicolas Flamel who, it immediately became apparent, was not a teacher or any other famous wizard that the average student was expected to know.

“The thing is,” said Harry one Thursday afternoon while they were all poring over library books in the vain hope of finding a reference to him somewhere, “I _know_ I’ve heard his name before now. I just can’t remember where.”

Neville, who was wistfully thinking to himself that he’d passed on a trip down to the lake with the Hufflepuffs for this, turned a page of the large volume Hermione had handed him and continued running his glassy eyes over the words, taking in nothing. 

“Could Slughorn have mentioned him?” Ron suggested. “He’s been here almost as long as Dumbledore has, maybe Flamel was a student at one point.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard Slughorn mention him,” Neville said, getting momentarily excited when his eyes settled on a name that turned out to be ‘Nikolai Farnel’. “I guess I could ask him. You know, get help with my Potions essay and work it into a conversation.”

“I don’t think he’d fall for that,” Hermione said. “Whoever Flamel is, the teachers must know about him. If we start asking questions he’ll guess what we’re up to straight away.”

Neville hummed blankly in response and kept staring at his book. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, Hermione,” Harry continued. “About why you’d want to hide something in Hogwarts instead of Gringotts?”

Hermione looked up. “You have?”

“Yeah.” Harry looked contemplative. “It’s just—Ron and I ran into Hagrid in Diagon Alley on my birthday, which was the same day that vault got robbed. Hagrid even mentioned he was on the way to Gringotts on Hogwarts business. You don’t suppose—”

Ron gasped. “Quirrell! Harry, we saw Professor Quirrell in the Leaky Cauldron that day as well!”

It was at this point that Madam Pince, the librarian, came by and told them to lower their voices. 

“You don’t suppose Hagrid brought whatever it is to Hogwarts _from_ Gringotts, do you?” Harry continued, now whispering. “He was really evasive when I mentioned the robbery had happened on the day he was there,” he added, remembering. “And if Quirrell _is_ trying to steal it, maybe he _was_ the one who broke into Gringotts. Maybe it was the same vault Hagrid had just visited!” 

“Even if that’s true Hagrid must know all of this as well,” Hermione pointed out. “And if he knows then Dumbledore must, too. We still have no proof it’s Professor Quirrell, it’s all circumstantial.”

“We’ve always got breaking into his office as a fallback,” Ron said, to a glare from Hermione. 

But they were far too busy to entertain the possibility of sneaking into Professor Quirrell’s office any further. By the time the first Quidditch game of the season rolled around, Neville was grateful for the excuse to spend a Saturday somewhere other than the library. 

Harry, on the other hand, grew progressively more agitated in the days leading up to it. On the morning of the game, he barely even touched his breakfast. He needn’t have worried, though; the match went off almost perfectly, with the exception of one of the Slytherin Chasers almost knocking him off his broom. Harry had caught the Golden Snitch within twenty minutes and touched down to uproarious applause from the onlookers. When the rest of the Gryffindor team gathered around to congratulate him, Fred and George actually hefted him into the air. 

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw it,” Harry was saying later that night in the Gryffindor common room. Fred and George had stolen some food from the kitchens in order to celebrate their victory. “It was about two feet above Higgs—but then I lost sight of it. Still, he could’ve ended the game in the first five minutes if he hadn’t been too busy gloating over that Bludger almost killing Katie to see the Snitch.”

“The Slytherin team’s always picked brawn over brains,” said Angelina Johnson. Meanwhile, Wood was busily giving a play-by-play recap of the entire game to anyone who would listen, as if the whole school hadn’t been at the game as well. 

It was a nice evening. For the first time in weeks, none of them had thoughts of three-headed dogs or Nicolas Flamel on their minds. Neville, who still didn’t know the first thing about Quidditch and would pay to never have to sit on a broomstick again, was content to simply sit back and listen while everyone else remarked excitedly about the day’s game. 

He’d been at Hogwarts for three months now and, for the most part, people had stopped staring whenever he passed them in the corridors. He really _was_ just a regular student now—good at some subjects, bad at others, okay at a few. It was just like Augusta had wanted for him—she’d be pleased.

The Christmas holidays were just around the corner now. It was only a few days later that the first snowflakes started to fall on Hogwarts, signalling the changing of the seasons. Neville was looking forward to the time off from studying—but a small part of him was disappointed that he would be leaving Hogwarts.

“I can’t wait to get home,” Harry said excitedly as they made their way to class on the Monday of their final week. “I want to tell Padfoot and Moony about the Quidditch game—they wanted to come watch it in person, but it fell just after—well, they couldn’t make it.”

“Maybe you could ask them if they know who Nicolas Flamel is,” Hermione suggested. 

“Like it’ll be that easy,” Ron said. “Probably couldn’t hurt, though, right? What about you, Neville? Your Gran must know a lot of wizards. You could ask her when you go back if she’s heard of him.”

“Well,” Neville said delicately, trying to envision that kind of conversation. “Yeah, I could _ask_.” She always needed some kind of explanation whenever he asked things. It’s not like she’d report it to the school if he mentioned Nicolas Flamel, but she’d want to know how it came up, and he didn’t really want to tell her about what they’d been getting up to for the last few months. 

Hermione sighed. “I’d ask _my_ parents, but they’re dentists,” she said.

Harry, Ron and Neville stared at her blankly. “Um, what are dentists?” Neville asked. 

“Oh, I know this!” Ron said suddenly. “They’re a kind of Muggle Healer that looks after people’s teeth. Hermione, that’s _wicked_. Is it true Muggles tie you to a chair and drill holes in your teeth if they aren’t clean enough?”

Hermione snorted. “Honestly, you’d think so, the way some people complain.”

This led to some rather concerned muttering between the boys.

“Well, at least you guys get to go home at all,” Ron said, once they were outside heading toward the greenhouses. “I heard from my parents at breakfast—they’re going to Romania to visit Charlie for the holidays, so I’m staying here with Fred, George and Percy.”

Harry instantly looked very guilty about loudly declaring how excited he was to go home. Then he perked up. “Why don’t you stay at my house?” he asked. “I’m sure Sirius won’t mind.”

Ron perked up too. “You think so?”

“Of course—and you two should come over as well,” Harry added to Hermione and Neville. “What about lunch on Christmas Eve? That way you’ve still got Christmas Day with your families.”

The prospect of going over to Harry’s house on Christmas Eve instantly made Neville ten times more excited for the holidays. “I’ll write to my Gran,” he said. “You live in London, right?”

Harry nodded. “It’s number twelve, Grimmauld Place—you can take the Floo there.”

“My house isn’t connected to the Floo Network,” Hermione said. “I’ve never even used Floo Powder before.”

Harry looked quite taken aback by this revelation, but Ron quickly piped up with another suggestion. “Hermione, you should take the Knight Bus! You can call it from anywhere in Britain. I’ve always wanted to have a go on it.”

By the time they reached Herbology, everything had been settled. For the first time in his life, Neville had the prospect of spending Christmas with friends his own age to look forward to. Their last week at Hogwarts passed like a blur, and before he knew it, they were bundling onto the Hogwarts Express ready for home. 

* * *

After the bustle of day to day life at Hogwarts, returning to the mundaneness of life at home felt stifling. Neville hadn’t exactly been a shut-in, but he didn’t really go on outings except with his Gran, and they were never particularly exciting. When he did go out, the usual whispers followed him wherever he went, so he kept his head down as much as possible. 

Before coming to Hogwarts, Augusta had homeschooled him, and his days had mostly consisted of studying. He didn’t have much company other than Trevor. 

When he wasn’t studying, he spent as much time as he could in the garden. They didn’t have any magical plants—there were restrictions on cultivating that sort of thing outdoors, in case they got into a Muggle garden by mistake—but they did have an impressive selection of flowers and herbs for cooking, and there was a spot Neville liked down at the bottom with a chair next to a small pond.

It was currently too cold to sit out there for any length of time, but Neville went down after lunch on his first day back anyway, just to see how it was doing. The pond was frozen over

He found himself examining a few of the plants in the garden bed. The last time he came out here, they had all looked the same—but he recognised quite a lot of them now. He spotted wormwood, asphodel and aconite, all of which were major potion ingredients. 

Neville toyed with the idea of asking Augusta if he could turn the downstairs sunroom into a conservatory. He could grow a lot of plants there—maybe even some magical ones. Of course, he’d never be able to maintain it when he was away at Hogwarts for most of the year, and it was much too early to think about what he’d be doing after he graduated. 

His shoes were covered with snow when he finally made his way back to the house, and he rubbed his hands together to warm them up. Augusta was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a _Daily Prophet_. She looked up when he entered. 

“How was the garden?” she asked, putting down the newspaper.

“It was good,” said Neville, sitting down. He did not elaborate.

“You still haven’t told me much about your time at Hogwarts,” she stated. “How were your classes?”

“They were fine,” Neville said. Then, because he’d have to eventually, added, “Herbology’s my best subject.”

“Herbology?” she sounded surprised. “What are you supposed to do with Herbology? You should be focusing on more useful areas of magic. Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Those were your father’s best subjects, you know.”

“Alright,” said Neville, unwilling to argue. 

He wondered if he should mention Professor Slughorn’s suggestion that his problem with spells was that he was using somebody else’s wand. Would she buy him his own? Frankly, he just didn’t want to ask. Instead, he waited an appropriate amount of time and then said, “Um, I was wondering if I could go to Diagon Alley sometime this week. I need to buy Christmas presents for my friends.”

“Oh yes, before Christmas Eve. We’ll go tomorrow,” Augusta said. Neville sighed; it was too much to hope she’d let him go by himself. Still, he might be able to convince her to let him do the actual shopping on his own. “I was quite pleased when you mentioned you’d made friends with Harry Potter,” she continued. “His parents and yours were friends, you know.”

“Yeah, he mentioned it,” Neville mumbled. 

The holidays passed rather uneventfully. Neville divided his time between working through the assignments they’d been set, and writing to his friends. If it weren’t for the fact that Hermione always brought him up at least once in all of her letters, he might have forgotten about Nicolas Flamel entirely. 

Considering how curious Harry, Ron and Hermione were about it, Neville wondered if he wasn’t taking the situation seriously enough. It was just that even if Professor Quirrell _was_ trying to steal something from the school, he couldn’t see what four first-years were supposed to do about it. Besides, if Hagrid knew everything that they did and wasn’t concerned, then everything must have been fine. 

So Neville put it from his mind. He focused on what he was meant to be focusing on—which at the moment was his homework. 

The following day, they took the Floo to Diagon Alley. True to form, Augusta kept him close to her side as they wandered about.

Hermione proved to be the hardest to buy a present for. She’d probably be happy with any book, but had no idea what she’d prefer. He knew she liked nonfiction stories. In the end he settled on something called _Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart; it was a fairly new release, so there was a safe bet she wouldn’t have already read it, and Lockhart’s books were extremely popular, so she’d probably like it. For Harry, he bought a book called _The_ _101 Funniest Quidditch Mishaps of the 20th Century_ , and for Ron, a pullover jacket featuring the insignia of the Chudley Cannons. 

After that, all he had left to do was wait until Christmas Eve. 

* * *

The first thing Neville noticed upon stepping out of the fireplace at 12 Grimmauld Place was that the house was huge. An impressive set of stairs led up from the sitting room into which he emerged, and most of the furnishings could have been antiques. The room was also decorated with a large Christmas tree, which stood proudly on one side. It was enchanted in some way so that the baubles bobbed daintily between the branches, and tiny pinpricks of light danced around it.

Hermione had arrived before he did; she was seated in one of the room’s big armchairs, across from Ron, who was on a couch while Harry perched on its armrest. All three of them looked up when Neville appeared, arms laden with Christmas presents, just as Augusta appeared in the fireplace behind him. 

“Hi Neville, Merry Christmas!” Harry hopped off the couch and ran over to welcome their guests. He glanced uncertainly at Augusta, looking slightly intimidated, and straightened up. “Hello, Mrs. Longbottom. I’m Harry Potter. This is Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Welcome to my house.”

“What a polite young man, I can see my Neville chooses his friends well,” said Augusta, shaking Harry’s hand. At her side, Neville smiled awkwardly.

Harry was just taking the pile of presents out of Neville’s arms when the door to the sitting room opened and in walked a man Neville didn’t recognise, carrying three large mugs of hot chocolate. “Here we are—oh, more guests?” he asked, sighting Neville and Augusta. “You’re very popular today, Harry.”

This must be Harry’s godfather. Neville was surprised by how young he looked—he couldn’t have been older than his early thirties. He had a carefree, handsome face and long black hair that reached past his shoulders. Harry looked very relieved to see him. “Sirius, this is Neville Longbottom,” he said. 

“I thought you might be,” said Sirius, setting down the hot chocolates on a coffee table between Hermione and Ron. “You look just like your mum. And you must be Mrs. Longbottom,” he continued, shaking Augusta’s hand. 

Meanwhile, Harry was transferring Neville’s pile of presents under one arm and picking up one of the hot chocolates with his free hand. “We’re going to show Neville and Hermione the house now,” he said. 

Neville bid an awkward farewell to Augusta before allowing himself to be spirited out of the room by the other children. 

Harry led them to a large kitchen, in which another man was seated at the table. He looked to be about the same age as Sirius, but unlike Sirius, his face was pale and weary, and lined with a surprising number of scars. He looked up when they entered. 

“Neville, this is Remus,” Harry said, running over to the stove and pouring out another hot chocolate from a saucepan that was atop it. 

“Neville Longbottom?” Remus asked with interest. Neville braced himself for the usual questions, but they didn’t come. Remus just smiled pleasantly. “Harry mentioned you were coming over today. How are you enjoying the holidays?”

“They’re alright,” Neville said, still feeling a little uncomfortable from all the attention. Luckily, Harry returned to give him the hot chocolate. “Just doing my homework, mostly.”

“Ah, well, maybe you can convince Harry to do his, then,” Remus said, amused. 

“We’re going upstairs now,” said Harry loudly, picking up the presents and his own cup before ushering them out the door once more. 

Harry’s bedroom was up a flight of stairs and off to one side. It wasn’t as big as Neville had expected given the size of the house, and there was a second mattress pulled out next to the bed where Ron had been sleeping, but there was still plenty of space for the four of them to spread out. 

Harry’s prized Nimbus 2000 was propped against a wall, and Neville noticed a lot of other Quidditch merchandise throughout the room; the bedspread had a pattern of Golden Snitches, there were four large bean bags made to look like the four Quidditch balls, and the lamp next to Harry’s bed was shaped like a broomstick. 

Neville’s eyes landed on a photograph stuck to the wall beneath the lamp, showing a pretty young woman with dark red hair next to a man with glasses who greatly resembled Harry. They were holding a toddler who could only have been Harry himself. All three of them were laughing.

“What’s with adults and asking kids about school?” Ron asked, settling into one of the Bludger bean bags with his mug. “Don’t they know any other ways to start a conversation?”

“Never mind that,” Hermione said, taking the Quaffle seat. “It’s great to see you, Neville.”

“You too,” Neville said, finally relaxing now that it was just the four of them. He sat down on the other Bludger. “I, er, got you guys some Christmas presents,” he added.

“Oh yeah!” Harry said, like this had only just registered despite the fact that he had been carrying them around since Neville arrived. “Thanks—I got something for you guys too,” he added, putting Neville’s presents on the floor in the middle and rummaging around in the pile of stuff next to his bed. 

“That reminds me, I brought some as well,” Hermione added, picking up the bag she had been carrying around and gingerly removing a couple of wrapped boxes and a small potted plant, which seemed to have been balanced on top of them. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wrap yours, Neville, but here,” she said, passing him the plant. 

He had never seen anything like it. Its leaves were red on one side and lined with spines that made them resemble toothed mouths. Neville was hesitant to touch it. Most of the plants they had to deal with in Herbology could be quite dangerous. “It’s called a Venus fly trap,” Hermione explained. “If a bug lands on the leaves, they snap closed and the plant eats it! But it’s not magical at all,” she added. “They’re very popular with Muggles.”

“How can it eat bugs if it’s not magic?” Ron asked skeptically, looking up from the wrapped box that Hermione had handed him. 

“Because some things get by just fine without magic,” Hermione said dismissively. “Do you like it, Neville?”

Neville was incredibly touched. The fact that the plant wasn’t magical meant there were no regulations on children keeping it, and because it was small he could take it back to Hogwarts in January. “I love it—thanks, Hermione.”

Harry added his and Ron’s presents to the pile and sat down on the Snitch bean bag.

Hermione had gotten Harry and Ron a big box of Chocolate Frogs each, knowing they collected the cards. Harry looked a bit skeptical upon picking up Neville’s present, which was obviously a book, but had a good laugh upon seeing the title and promptly showed it to Ron. Hermione, it turned out, was already familiar with Gilderoy Lockhart (“But I haven’t read any of his books yet! I was planning on getting a few to read over the summer, so this is perfect, Neville!”) and Ron grinned upon seeing the Chudley Cannons jersey (“I can finally wear a jumper that isn’t maroon!”).

Ron gave Hermione and Neville each a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, while Harry had given Hermione a book of some kind and Neville, a large selection of Honeydukes sweets including Fizzing Whizbees and some Sugar Quills. Since Harry and Ron were planning on opening each other’s presents tomorrow, that was all of them.

As they were passing around the boxes of sweets to share, something else occurred to Harry and he got up again to rummage around next to his bed, returning with a plastic container filled with little patty pans of chocolate fudge. “Help yourself to these as well, just don’t mention them to Sirius. Kreacher made them last night, but he made me promise they were just for us.”

“Who’s Kreacher?” Neville asked, taking one of the fudges and popping it into his mouth. It was very good. 

“Oh, right, you haven’t met him yet—he’s our house elf,” Harry explained. 

“Why wouldn’t he want Sirius to have some?” Hermione asked, taking a piece of fudge as well. 

Harry made a face. “Kreacher hates Sirius. He’s never really forgiven him for destroying old Walburga’s portrait, but he had to. There was no way to take it down and it kept screaming every time someone walked past it.”

Hermione frowned. “Why does he work here if he hates Sirius?” she asked suspiciously. 

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Well, he likes _me_ ,” he admitted self-consciously. “And he’s alright with Remus now, I think. But old Walburga—that’s Sirius’s mum—was really nice to Kreacher and really horrible to Sirius, so there’s some bad blood there on both ends.”

“That’s horrible,” said Hermione sympathetically. 

“Where’s Kreacher now, anyway?” Ron asked, opening one of his Chocolate Frogs to have a look at the card. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

“Probably hiding out in the kitchen cupboard—oh, who did you get?” Harry added, looking at Ron. “I’m still looking for Fulbert the Fearful.”

“Nah, it’s Dumbledore,” Ron said. “Do either of you want to start collecting?” he asked Hermione and Neville. “We’ve both got him already.”

“Thanks, but I’d just lose them,” Neville said. 

Ron shrugged and went to put the card aside to open another frog—but then something caught his eye and he inhaled sharply. “No _way_.”

Everyone sat up, alert. “What is it, Ron?” Hermione asked. 

“Is it Ingrid the Illusionist? I heard a rumour that they disguise her cards as other people—” Harry started to say. 

Ron was reading the text on the card with uncharacteristic intensity. “No, Harry, it’s _Nicolas Flamel_. Look!”

Harry eagerly took the card, his eyes scanning the back with interest. “I don’t believe it—I _knew_ I’d read his name somewhere! I even checked the Chocolate Frogs catalogue to see if he had a card, but I didn’t consider that he might be mentioned on someone else’s. Here, look,” he said, passing the card to Neville, who was sitting closest. 

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling._

“Wow,” Neville said, handing the card to Hermione, who was itching to see it. Despite the fact that Neville had been trying not to get involved, it was hard not to be a little bit curious after all the time they’d spent chasing Flamel’s identity in the library. “He’s been under our noses this whole time?”

“It says he’s an alchemist,” Hermione said thoughtfully, reading the card. “So what could he be keeping at Hogwarts? Oh, this is so frustrating, I wish I could go to the library! Now that I know where to look I bet I’ll find loads of books on him.”

“What exactly _is_ alchemy?” asked Neville. He’d heard the term thrown around, but it wasn’t a very common area of magic. 

“It’s the branch of magic to do with creating perfect materials,” Hermione explained. “You know, turning lead into gold, or medicines that cure any disease. Some of it’s encompassed by subjects like Transfiguration and Potions, which is why it’s not usually taught at Hogwarts. True alchemy is _really_ difficult.”

“I bet Fluffy’s guarding loads of cool stuff, then!” Ron said. “If Flamel can turn lead into gold, he’s probably got a fortune hidden away.”

“But that doesn’t explain why it’s in the castle,” Hermione pointed out. “If Flamel could make gold whenever he wanted, why go to all the trouble of moving it out of Gringotts and hiding it at Hogwarts? There must be more to it than that.”

Try as they might, nobody could guess exactly what it was that Fluffy was guarding. However, the discovery had given them all a renewed enthusiasm to solve the mystery. They had a new lead to explore once they were back in the library. Even Neville had to admit he couldn’t wait to know more. 

They continued snacking on fudge and Chocolate Frogs until Sirius came to inform them that it was time for lunch, at which point Neville instantly regretted the amount of sweets he’d eaten. 

Despite this, lunch was a pleasant affair. Nobody said anything about Nicolas Flamel or the mystery waiting to be solved at Hogwarts. By the time Neville had bid goodbye to his friends and was stepping back into the fireplace with Augusta, he felt almost sleepy.


	4. The Marauder's Map

The Gryffindor common room was alive with activity on the students’ first night back. Hermione was annoyed at not having time to go to the library after the welcoming feast, and ended up retiring early to go and read in the girls’ dorm, escaping the noise as students from all years chattered excitedly amongst themselves, catching up on the last few weeks. 

Fred and George had cast a spell which conjured a large swarm of flies that they were now attempting to direct into Neville’s Venus fly trap. They seemed disappointed that it didn’t sprout legs and start chasing after them, or snap violently when touched (“How does it even survive just by waiting for the flies to land on it?”) but Neville refused to let them try enchanting it to move more. He was quite fond of the little plant as it was. 

As a result of this, however, the common room was full of buzzing insects, which drove a lot of students back to their dormitories early. Neville decided to take advantage of the situation to practice using Levitation Charms on the flies and feed them to Trevor, who was seated on the arm of Neville’s chair looking disdainfully at the bugs his owner was unsuccessfully trying to make fly at him. 

Neville was sort-of in conversation with Harry and Ron, but they were mostly just talking to each other about Quidditch while Neville vaguely listened.

“Wait, why would you want _Slytherin_ to win the next match?” Ron was asking.

Harry looked annoyed at being asked. “It’s not like I want them to win the _Cup_ , but right now Slytherin is coming last, and Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff in their match last term. If Ravenclaw wins against Slytherin too they’ll be too far in the lead. If Slytherin wins then nobody’s won more than one match yet and we’ll still be _basically_ winning by the time we have to face Hufflepuff in March. Moony and Padfoot were explaining it to me last night.”

“Well, fat chance of that either way,” Ron said. “Everyone knows the Slytherin team’s rubbish. If they win it’ll just be because their Seeker got lucky.”

“What did you say, Harry?” asked Fred from somewhere across the room. Harry, Ron and Neville looked up. He and George had given up on Neville’s plant and had moved on to transfiguring crickets for their friend Lee’s tarantula, but something Harry just said had clearly caught their attention, because their cluster of crickets started to hop away unchallenged.

Harry became defensive. “Look, it’s not because I like Slytherin, I just mean strategically—”

“No, mate, about Moony and Padfoot,” Fred said. “Who are Moony and Padfoot?”

Harry frowned. “Remus and Sirius. You’ve met them!”

Fred and George looked at each other, eyebrows raised. “Remus and Sirius are Moony and Padfoot?” George asked, visibly excited.

“You’ve never called them that before,” Fred said.

“I call them that all the time!” Harry said.

“Not around us, you haven’t,” George said. 

“And I don’t suppose you know anyone named Wormtail, would you?” Fred continued.

“Or Prongs,” George added.

Harry looked between the twins and then back to Ron, like somebody was playing a prank on him. “Prongs was my dad,” he said. “And Wormtail is their friend Peter Pettigrew—I don’t think you’ve met him, he works at the Ministry of Magic. Those are their nicknames from when they went to Hogwarts, how d’you know about them?”

Fred and George were both grinning now.

“Blimey, this changes things, doesn’t it, Fred?”

“All this time owing them our lives, and they’ve been under our noses all along.”

“And our very own Harry, the heir to their legacy.”

Harry made a confused gesture with his hands. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“Not to worry, your royal highness, all will be revealed to you in due time,” George replied, bowing deeply to Harry.

“We’ll be right back,” Fred said. 

Both twins then turned and sprinted up toward the boys’ dormitories. “Clean up your bugs!” Ron yelled after them as the crickets started chirping. “Bloody hell, what do you suppose that was about?”

“I have no idea,” Harry said. “Nobody uses those nicknames anymore outside our family.”

The answer came a few minutes later when Fred and George came barrelling back down the stairs, Fred holding a folded piece of very old parchment. Neville gave up on Levitation Charms and joined Harry and Ron as they crowded in to look at the parchment.

“Alright, took us ages to figure this little beauty out, but get ready,” George said, pointing his wand at the parchment in Fred’s hands. “ _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._ ”

Harry, Ron and Neville each stifled a small gasp as words began to appear on the front of the paper.

 _Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_ _  
_ _Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_ _  
_ _are proud to present_ _  
_ _THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

Fred and George grinned, both watching Harry closely for his reaction as he gingerly took the map and unfolded it further. Ron and Neville peered over his shoulders. 

Lines and words were appearing all over the map’s surface. It seemed to be a building layout—Neville realised with a start when Harry unfolded it fully that it was a map of Hogwarts. 

“Where did you get this?” breathed Harry, unable to conceal his awe. 

“Nicked it from Filch in our very first term,” Fred said proudly. “He made the mistake of leaving us alone in his office and, well, you see a draw labelled _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_ , what are you supposed to do, _not_ take it?”

“It’s Moony’s handwriting on the front,” Harry noted, spreading the map out on the table in front of him so they could all see it better. “They must have made this when they were at school here—but they’ve never mentioned it to me. I can’t believe you two’ve had it all this time!”

“This would have come in handy in our first term,” Ron said. “Maps should be standard-issue for all first-years.”

Fred and George looked frankly offended by this statement. “This is no ordinary _map_ , Ronniekins, this is one of a kind,” said Fred snobbishly. 

“It’s got all the secret passages in and out of Hogwarts—the ones Filch doesn’t know about,” added George.

“Not to mention it shows you where everyone in the castle is, at all times,” Fred continued.

Neville had just noticed it too, when he’d looked for their current location on the map. Right now, Gryffindor Tower was hard to make out under a cluster of black dots, around which were dozens of names all piled on top of one another. There were similar clusters of names in one of the other towers, as well as down in the basement and in the dungeons. Those must be the other House common rooms. Furthermore, there were a few other names visible around the map; Neville spotted Filch pacing one of the corridors in the second floor, and a couple of teachers in the staff room. It even showed ghosts; Nearly-Headless Nick was currently floating around the staircase leading up to Gryffindor Tower. 

“This is amazing, Harry,” Neville said. “I can’t believe your dad and his friends _made_ this.”

Harry was suddenly grinning. “Fred, George—can we borrow it?”

“Borrow it?” asked George. 

“We should be asking to borrow it from you,” Fred said, amused.

“It’s yours, mate,” George continued.

Harry hesitated, looking between them. “You’re _giving_ this to me?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be able to work out a timeshare system, if we ever need to raid Slughorn’s supply closet,” Fred said. “But passing it on to its rightful owner is an honour.”

“We’ve already got the secret passages committed to memory anyway,” George continued. 

“Ron, Neville, you know what this means, right?” Harry asked, looking at them excitedly. 

Neville paused, wondering what Harry was getting at. He glanced at Ron, who looked just as clueless. “No?”

“Quirrell’s office!” Harry said. “If we use this map and the Invisibility Cloak, we’ll be able to get in and out of Quirrell’s office without being caught.”

Ron’s face lit up with understanding, while Neville looked skeptical. “Harry—”

“Quirrell’s office is an interesting choice for a first outing, but hey, you kids have fun,” Fred said. 

Neville had to wait until Fred and George had finished explaining the map and left them to it before he continued. 

“Harry, are you sure you want—” he began.

“Should we tell Hermione about the map?” Ron asked excitedly. 

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “She might think we ought to hand it in.”

“She did lie to McGonagall for us about the troll though,” Ron said. “But then, she’s also _really_ down on us sneaking into Quirrell’s office.”

“We’ll tell her, but I think we should wait until after we’ve done it, so she doesn’t feel like she’s got to choose,” Harry said. “The three of us can handle it on our own. What do you think, Neville?” 

“Are you sure breaking into Professor Quirrell’s office is the best idea?” Neville asked delicately.

“Yes!” Harry insisted. “I _know_ you’re just as curious as we are about what he’s really getting up to. If he _is_ trying to sneak past Fluffy then there’s bound to be _something_ in his office that proves it.”

Neville hesitated. If he was being honest, the thing he was most eager to find out about Professor Quirrell had nothing to do with Fluffy—it was the mystery of why his scar had hurt upon meeting him in the third-floor corridor. He still hadn’t told Harry and the others about it happening. 

Still, after all this time helping them search, he _was_ a bit curious about the mystery of Fluffy. Besides, it wasn’t as if they had malicious intent. They were just trying to do what the teachers could not and circumvent the rules. If it turned out that they were wrong and there was nothing incriminating, the teachers would be none the wiser. 

He bit his lip. “We’re just going to have a look around, yeah?”

As soon as he got the affirmation, Harry grinned. “Yeah. It can’t be that hard, right?” 

“You could just wait outside under the Invisibility Cloak with the map and keep watch,” Ron added. “You see anyone coming, we’ll slip out and join you and be on our way. We could go tonight!”

“We can’t go at night time,” Harry said. “Teachers’ private rooms are off of their offices. If we go at night Quirrell could hear us.”

“How d’you know that?” Ron asked, frowning. 

“It’s on the map, look,” Harry said, pointing to the Defence Against the Dark Arts’ office. There was another, larger room behind it accessible only through the office. Now that he knew to look for it, Neville realised most of the teachers’ offices had similar rooms attached. 

“Oh, yeah,” said Neville. 

“You know, I never really thought about teachers having to sleep somewhere,” Ron said, and Neville had to agree with him, although it seemed obvious in hindsight. They could hardly have slept in a dormitory like the students did. 

“If we can’t go at night, then when?” Neville asked.

“We’ll just have to track his schedule,” Harry said decisively. “See if any of our free periods line up with his other classes.”

They all muttered in agreement. 

As it turned out, tracking Professor Quirrell’s schedule was easier than they’d expected. Now that they had the Marauder’s Map, they could check it regularly to see what Quirrell was up to. Harry kept the map on him at all times throughout the following day, and they frequently ducked away between classes to crowd around it in the boys’ bathroom. Quirrel alternated his time mainly between the Defence classroom, the staff room, and his office. They kept eagerly checking the third floor corridor, but it remained as empty as it ever did. Regardless, they were not to be dissuaded. 

Harry, Ron and Neville’s strange behaviour did not go unnoticed by Hermione, who assumed they’d all picked up a stomach bug at dinner for the number of bathroom breaks they took. Fortunately, she was so anxious to get to the library and continue their research on Nicholas Flamel that she didn’t think much of it. Unfortunately, they didn’t have enough time between classes to do any proper research, but Hermione left the lunch table early, and they didn’t see her again until she showed up to Charms with her bag positively bulging with thick, heavy volumes. 

“I know we were planning to go after we finished classes, but I couldn’t wait,” she whispered excitedly. “I didn’t have time to do any reading, so I just checked out the biggest books on alchemy that I could find.”

The boys exchanged guilty looks. The fact that they had decided to leave Hermione out of their planned investigation of Quirrell meant that they had not been sharing in her anticipation of visiting the library today. 

Since it was their first day back, they started Charms class by reviewing the spells they had learned last term. Neville resigned himself to another fruitless hour saying _Wingardium Leviosa_ with slightly different intonations while Hermione, whose charms were as perfect as ever, surreptitiously pulled out one of her alchemy books and started to read. 

Harry and Ron quickly moved on from Levitation Charms and fetched a couple of padlocks from Flitwick’s desk to practice Locking and Unlocking Charms. Neville continued to prod his quill dejectedly with his wand. 

“What’s the incantation for Locking Charms again?” Ron asked, sitting back down in between Harry and Neville. 

“It’s _Colloportus_ ,” said Neville, pleased that Ron had asked the one thing he actually knew the answer to. 

“Right,” Ron said, tapping the padlock with his wand. “ _Colloportus_.”

The shackle jerked slightly but did not click into place. Ron sighed. “Bloody hell, I _know_ I could do this before the holidays.”

“Doing better than me, then,” Neville said dejectedly, waving his wand and tapping the quill one more time. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” he snapped, clearly frustrated. The quill did not move at all.

“Oh, I know this one,” said Ron helpfully. “You need to really stretch out the _gar_ and the _o_. _Win-gar-dium levi-o-sa_. And I don’t reckon you need to wave your wand as much, it’s more of a swish.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Neville noticed Hermione smile to herself. He looked down at the quill again, feeling embarrassed that he was now the only one in their class who hadn’t done it yet. Trying to follow Ron’s advice, he swished his wand, ending it by tapping the quill and saying, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

Neville was so surprised when the quill gently lifted from the desk that he almost dropped his wand. After regaining his composure, he broke into a faint smile, using his wand to direct the quill upwards until he accidentally lost control and it dropped again, landing on the floor a few feet in front of their desk. 

He ducked under the desk to grab it and came back to find that Ron and Harry had gotten the hang of Locking and Unlocking Charms once more and were happily clicking their padlocks open and closed with magic. 

“ _Colloportus, Alohomora, Colloportus_ …you got it, Neville?” Ron added, noticing him plonk back into his chair. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Neville said. Feeling bold, he tapped the padlock Ron was holding and said the incantation again. It began to levitate out of Ron’s hand, but unfortunately, Neville lifted his wand too fast and accidentally flung the padlock across the room right at Professor Flitwick, who almost fell off his stool in alarm. Neville cringed. “Sorry, Professor!” he called, while Harry and Ron stifled their laughter. 

They were just about to move on to Wand-Lighting Charms when Hermione let out a short gasp, and all three of them looked in her direction. “What is it, Hermione?” Ron asked eagerly, trying to lean past Harry to see what she was reading. 

Hermione held up a hand, still reading intensely while tracing the words with her finger. “Hold on,” she breathed. “I think this is—yes, it has to be—I’ve figured it out!”

“What _is_ it, then?” Harry asked, trying to take the book, but she pulled it out of his reach, still reading. 

“Shh,” said Hermione, finally lifting her gaze and inclining her head meaningfully toward Professor Flitwick. “I think I know what Fluffy’s guarding, but don’t shout it out,” she said, passing the book to Harry, who passed it to Ron so all three boys could see it. 

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers_ , it read. _The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal._

Neville recalled their conversation on Christmas Eve. They’d thought it odd that Flamel would simply want to hide treasure at Hogwarts if he could make more whenever he wanted, but it would make sense if he used a Philosopher’s Stone to do so; keeping the Stone itself safe was far more important. He kept reading. 

_...the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover…_

“You figured it out, Hermione!” Harry whispered excitedly. “The Philosopher’s Stone—that _has_ to be what Fluffy’s guarding.”

“If he knew somebody was after it, he could have asked Dumbledore to help him hide it,” suggested Ron. 

“Just in time, too, if we’re right about what happened at Gringotts,” said Neville. 

“You can hardly blame Quirrell for wanting it,” Harry added. “Anyone would.”

It was with a renewed spring in their step that they went about the rest of that week and the next, checking Quirrell’s location on the Marauder’s Map during all of their free periods until they had a pretty reliable layout of his weekly schedule. He taught a double Defence Against the Dark Arts class to a group of fourth-years on Friday afternoons, when first-year Gryffindors had a free period. They quickly zeroed in on this as the best time for the ‘heist’, because even if they somehow got caught, they could spin it as though they’d gone looking for Professor Quirrell during a free period to ask him for help with homework.

Everything seemed to be coming together, right up until Thursday afternoon the day before they’d planned to go, when Neville met up with Hannah, Susan, Justin and Ernie in the Great Hall after dinner and lost track of time. 

He still really enjoyed hanging out with them; it was a lot calmer and more predictable than being around Harry, Ron and Hermione, and the Hufflepuffs seemed to genuinely enjoy his company despite the fact that he was a Gryffindor. There was never any talk about three-headed dogs or bank robberies or six-hundred year old alchemists; just safe, wholesome conversations about homework or the holidays or the latest Weird Sisters album. 

Right now, they were all crowded around the Hufflepuff table snacking on leftovers from dinner while Justin showed them a Muggle device that his parents had given him for Christmas. It resembled a small, rectangular box with a cable of some kind that attached to a pair of earmuffs.

“It’s called a Walkman,” Justin explained, sounding pleased to have their undivided attention. “It plays music.” He paused, looking slightly gloomy. “I didn’t have the heart to tell Mum and Dad that it wouldn’t work at Hogwarts.”

“Forget at Hogwarts, how does it play music at all?” Hannah asked, picking up the box and turning it over in fascination.

“It’s got batteries,” Justin explained. 

“Well, what are batteries?” asked Neville, picking up the earmuffs and putting them on curiously. 

“They’re these little—I don’t really know how they work, but—” Justin frowned. “They’re little packets of electricity, I guess.” 

Neville heard a scoff from somewhere behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder. The Hufflepuffs looked up as well.

Draco Malfoy was sitting within earshot at the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him. It was obvious from his expression that he thought Justin showing off how his Walkman worked was cringe-worthy at best. 

“Just ignore him,” Susan said softly. “So this machine, it’s like a portable radio?”

“Kind of,” Justin continued, avoiding looking in Malfoy’s direction. “Radios get the music from the air, but Walkmans get the music from tapes…but hang on, do wizards _use_ radios?” he asked, suddenly surprised. 

Malfoy scoffed again, and they heard him speaking loudly to Crabbe and Goyle. “He doesn’t even know about radios.”

“Can we curse him?” Ernie whispered, annoyed. Across from him, Hannah’s mouth had formed a thin line. 

Justin, who was normally quite chatty, looked uncomfortable now. “I just meant it’s weird that wizards would use radio waves.”

“What are radio waves?” asked Neville. 

Malfoy was clearly not done antagonising them. “Radio _waves_ ,” he snickered, like the phrase was funny to him. 

“I think wizarding radios are different,” Susan said to Justin. “My mum’s Muggle-born and she’s got a Muggle radio. It’s got an antenna. Our normal one doesn’t have that.”

“An antenna,” Malfoy said. “Honestly, why would anyone ever bother with that Muggle rubbish when they can just use magic.”

“Muggles _invented_ radios, you know,” Hannah snapped at him, whirling around so that her pigtails bobbed wildly. 

Malfoy glared at her. “I wasn’t talking to you, Abbott.”

Hannah looked considerably pinker than usual when she turned back to the group. “I can’t stand him,” she muttered, fiddling with the Walkman to distract herself and pressing one of the buttons. 

Instantly a horrible, high-pitched noise filled Neville’s ears. “Argh!” he yelled painfully, whipping off the earmuffs. 

Hannah dropped the machine and covered her mouth. “Sorry, Neville!” she gasped, while the Slytherins began snickering again.

“Whoops,” Justin said, quickly taking the earmuffs back. “My bad—that’s what I mean about you can’t use it at Hogwarts. All the magic that’s around makes Muggle technology go crazy.”

“You know, I’ve seen people using Muggle cameras,” Ernie said thoughtfully. “They seem to work okay.”

“That’s because cameras don’t really need electricity,” Susan said. “It’s just light on film.”

“Well then, what if we figured out a way to power Justin’s music player with magic instead of those battery things?” Ernie suggested. “I bet it’d work then.”

“You reckon?” Justin asked, and this sent them off on another tangent about magic and Muggle technology and ways to circumvent Hogwarts’ limitations on such things. Eventually, Malfoy got bored of repeating everything they said in a condescending tone and left the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle. Soon after, Neville and the Hufflepuffs were forced to do the same.

Neville knew from the Marauder’s Map that the Hufflepuff common room was down in the basement near the kitchens, but he had never been there himself. He bid goodbye to the others outside the Great Hall and started toward the stairs leading up to Gryffindor Tower. 

“So one set of Mudbloods and blood traitors wasn’t enough for you, Longbottom?” came the unmistakable voice of Draco Malfoy. “Had to start looking in the other Houses as well?”

Neville froze when Malfoy stepped into view between Neville and the way back to Gryffindor Tower. Crabbe and Goyle joined him, looking like a pair of gargoyles.

Neville groaned internally. He had been making an effort not to find himself alone with Malfoy after what he said before the Sorting Ceremony. He usually at least had Harry, who had learned not to take any of Malfoy’s bullshit. 

Unfortunately, Neville was not Harry. “I’m busy, Malfoy,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks burn as he stared at the ground. If he could just push past them...

“Yeah, I noticed,” Malfoy said smugly. “What’s that you were talking about with Potter and Weasley at lunch last week? _Oh_ _yeah, Friday afternoon. We can pretend we needed help with homework if we get caught_ ,” he said in a mocking high-pitched voice, impersonating no-one in particular. “What are you doing on Friday afternoon?”

Neville went cold. Malfoy had really overheard them talking about sneaking into Quirrell’s office? They’d thought they were being so clever, managing to keep it from Hermione, but maybe they’d gotten a little ahead of themselves by talking about it in the Great Hall. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Neville said, trying to walk around Malfoy, but Goyle blocked him. 

“I know you and your friends are up to something,” Malfoy continued, narrowing his eyes. 

If Malfoy was so suspicious, Neville wondered why he didn’t just wait to try and catch them in the act. “Well, you can believe what you want,” he muttered, trying to imagine what Harry would say in this situation. Probably _Now if you’ll excuse me, Malfoy, just because you don’t have anything better to do than wait in a corridor for twenty minutes hoping to run into me doesn’t mean that I don’t. I’ll be going now_. 

One day Neville would say something like that to Malfoy, but it was not this day. Instead, he just continued, “Sorry, I need to go now.”

Malfoy laughed, jumping aside dramatically. “Oh, sorry, Longbottom, go right on then,” he said. 

Neville made to push in between him and Crabbe, but Malfoy stuck his leg out while he did so and Neville tripped, falling to his knees. His eyes burned. 

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle howled with laughter. “Not so brave without Potter’s lot backing you up, then? And you call yourself a Gryffindor.”

Neville sniffed, willing himself not to cry in front of them. He scrambled to his feet, reaching inside his robes to grab his wand while he still had his back to Malfoy. It brought him some level of comfort. This was the wand that Frank Longbottom had used while facing down dark wizards. Surely Neville could stand up to a pratt like Malfoy. 

Neville whirled around at the same time Malfoy shouted, “ _Locomotor Mortis!_ ” 

He caught a fleeting glimpse of Malfoy’s laughing face before his legs snapped together, and suddenly, Neville’s arms were windmilling wildly as he tried to keep himself upright. He swayed uncertainty for a second before falling flat on his back and dropping his wand. 

Malfoy continued laughing. “I’ve been needing someone to practice that on, Longbottom, so thanks,” he snickered, kicking Neville’s wand well out of his reach before he, Crabbe and Goyle swept off down the hallway and back toward the dungeons. 

Neville stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, feeling utterly miserable. 

He had to crawl several feet in order to recover his wand, and then use the staircase railing in order to stand up. His legs were still glued together, and Neville resigned himself to hopping all the way up to the Fat Lady’s portrait. 

By the time he made it to the common room, he was absolutely exhausted and his stomach muscles were burning. Harry, Ron and Hermione were crowded around a chess board and all looked up upon seeing him topple inelegantly through the portrait hole. A few students laughed.

“What happened?” asked Harry, while he and Ron helped him up. 

“Malfoy,” muttered Neville. 

“Why, that—” Hermione cut herself off from whatever she was about to call Malfoy, before pulling out her wand and pointing it at Neville. “ _Locomotor Libertas._ ”

Immediately, Neville felt the spell on his legs relax and he slumped miserably down into an armchair. 

“Go and tell Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said insistently. “She’ll set things right.”

Neville already knew that he would do no such thing. He would not give Malfoy the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under his skin. “I don’t want any more trouble,” he mumbled. 

“Malfoy’s a bully,” Harry said distastefully. “He’d never have tried cursing you if it wasn’t three-on-one. You want a bean?” he asked, offering Neville the box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans that they had been snacking from.

Neville paused before taking a light brown bean that turned out to be hot cross bun flavoured. “Thanks,” he said, sighing. 

“You’ve got to stand up to him, Neville,” Ron continued. “Otherwise he’ll just keep walking all over you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Neville said glumly. “I still can’t get my spells to work properly. If I could fight him with Puffapods I bet he’d be quaking in his boots.”

“Don’t say that, Neville, you just need practice,” Hermione said. 

“Yeah!” Harry added. “We should do something this weekend. I’ve been wanting to learn that Curse of the Bogeys spell anyway.”

Neville knew that any attempt to practice their defensive magic was going to end with him flat on his face again, but he appreciated the sentiment. 

He had to wait until they’d gone up to their dorm before he could mention what he’d been wanting to tell them since he got back. 

“We need to call off the heist, Malfoy knows we’re planning something tomorrow,” Neville said, as soon as he’d determined that Dean and Seamus hadn’t returned to the dormitory yet. 

Harry had been in the middle of activating the Marauder’s Map. At this, he looked up with a start. “What? How?”

“He heard us talking in the Great Hall last week,” Neville said, and Ron groaned. 

“Bloody hell, I knew we were talking too loudly,” Ron said, scowling. “He must have been eavesdropping on purpose! Their table isn’t even next to ours.”

“How much does he know?” Harry asked, spreading the map out. 

Neville scrunched up his face, trying to remember exactly what Malfoy had said. “He heard us say we could use homework as an excuse if we got caught. He didn’t say where, though.”

“You know, I’m sure we used Quirrell’s name when we were talking,” said Ron. “I bet Malfoy just didn’t want us to know he was onto us.”

“So why mention it at all?” Neville asked. 

“Because he likes lording things over you, Neville,” Ron said. “No offence.”

“‘S alright,” Neville said. 

“There’s still no way he knows about the Map or the Invisibility Cloak,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I mean, what’s he going to do, report us? It’s the middle of the day. Students are allowed to go to teachers’ offices during school hours and ask them questions. It’s not our fault if we _happened_ to pick a time when he wasn’t there, and he _happened_ to forget to lock his door.”

“And what do we do if he _hasn’t_ forgotten to lock his door?” Neville asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Then we unlock it and pretend he did,” Harry said, shrugging and picking up the Map.

Neville chewed his nails. “Look, Harry, I do want to find out what he’s up to, but...I just think we should pick a different time. It’s too risky if Malfoy finds a way to sabotage us.”

“Like when?” Ron asked. 

Suddenly, Harry grinned. “How about right now?” he asked. 

Ron and Neville both turned to look at him. “Now? But what about—”

“Quirrell’s leaving the castle—look!” Harry said, showing them the Map. 

Sure enough, there was a dot marked with Professor Quirrell’s name exiting the castle and heading off toward the edge of the grounds.

“Where’s he think he’s going?” Ron asked, peering down at the map.

“I think the staff sometimes go down to the village for a drink,” Neville pointed out. “I’ve heard Hagrid mention it.” It wasn’t so late at night that such a thing would be unusual.

“Brilliant!” said Ron. “He’ll be gone for hours.”

“Come on,” said Harry, rummaging through his trunk for the Invisibility Cloak.

“Er, wait,” Neville said. “Harry, are you sure that’s the best idea? If we do get caught it’ll be harder to explain.”

Harry hesitated. “Look, Neville—why don’t you stay here? Ron and I can handle it—we’ll be invisible _and_ we’ll be able to see if anyone’s coming. I used to go out with the Cloak all the time when I was looking for that mirror. It’ll be easy.”

Neville sighed. “I want to come,” he said with conviction. Possibly the only thing worse than the idea of wandering around at night was the idea of his friends wandering around at night without him. This still felt less risky than going at a time when Malfoy knew they were up to something. Ron was right; if he’d heard them discussing the time, he could very well have heard them discussing the place and simply failed to mention it. It would be just like Malfoy to plant Dungbombs in Quirrell’s office right before they went in order to frame them. 

They grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and slipped out of the dormitory, passing Dean and Seamus who were on their way up. 

It wasn’t yet so late that there weren’t other students in the common room, but they were just a group of older students working on the masses of homework the teachers started piling on at N.E.W.T level, talking in tired mutterings. Nobody paid any mind when the portrait hole quietly opened and then closed once more a few seconds later.

Neville was given the task of holding the Marauder’s Map while Harry lit up his wand and led the way down to the Defence Against the Dark Art’s office. Filch was currently patrolling the fifth floor while Peeves was down in the Transfiguration Department, probably throwing things around. There were still a couple of students making their way back to their dormitories, but the trip down the Grand Staircase was uneventful except for when Neville slipped and fell while stepping over the trick stair, causing a short but loud noise. Both Harry and Ron flinched when this happened, and Neville got the distinct impression that they were regretting bringing him along instead of Hermione. 

They huddled around the map, checking to see if anyone in the vicinity had heard, but Filch was several floors above them at this point and Mrs. Norris, several floors below. Neither dot made any change in direction, and after a while, they kept going. 

Professor Quirrell’s office was located on the second floor, not far from where Harry, Ron and Hermione had faced the troll. After double-checking the map to make sure it was empty, Harry reached up and tried the handle.

Predictably, it did not budge, so Ron pulled out his wand and gave it a tap, whispering, “ _Alohomora_.”

They heard a click and, grinning, Harry pulled open the door so they could peer inside.

Neville hadn’t been in this room before. It was decorated with objects that must have been from Professor Quirrell’s year abroad; ornate wooden masks hung along one wall, and there was a telescope positioned next to the window. Behind the desk was another door that must have led to Quirrell’s private quarters. The whole place smelled faintly of garlic. 

Harry and Ron slipped out from under the Cloak. “Okay, Neville, you stay by the door and let us know if anyone’s coming,” said Ron, while they entered the room.

“Oh—okay,” Neville said as they left with Harry’s illuminated wand and he could no longer see the map. “ _Lumos_ ,” he said, trying to repeat the spell himself. His wand flickered briefly but did not light. Neville groaned internally. This was the last thing he needed when his friends were counting on him. “ _Lumos!_ ” he repeated in an annoyed whisper.

Thankfully, the spell took this time, and Neville relaxed, relieved, as he leaned against the wall beside the office and held his wand up to the Map. He stuck a foot in front of the heavy wooden door to keep it ajar while Harry and Ron looked around.

He could hear them scrambling about, opening drawers. This sounded impossibly loud to Neville’s ears, and he had to remind himself that it was just his own nerves. 

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Ron whispered loudly. 

“I don’t know, anything to do with Gringotts or three headed dogs?” Harry replied. “If I was trying to sneak past Fluffy, I’d try and find out what I could about what he is. Oh, look, there’s some library books here!” 

Neville tore his eyes away from the map to glance through the crack in the door. Harry and Ron were looking through a pile of books on Quirrell’s desk. 

“You’ll like this, Neville, he’s got a copy of our Herbology textbook,” Ron said, setting the book aside. 

“Look, this one’s got information on magical creatures!” Harry said excitedly, flipping through another book. 

“Anything about three-headed dogs?” asked Ron. 

“No, hold on, it’s a Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook,” Harry said, disappointed. “I guess there’s nothing weird about him having that.”

“What about this one?” Ron asked. “It’s all about how to handle trolls. That one from Halloween must have made an impression,” he added, snorting.

Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anything particularly suspicious about Quirrell’s choice of reading material. Neville returned his gaze to the Marauder’s Map—and his heart almost missed a beat. 

Peeves, who previously had been making his way up the Grand Staircase, had turned off and was heading down the very corridor in which they were all waiting. His movement was irregular as he bounced from wall to wall, but there was no way he’d be able to miss them if they kept making noise. “Harry, Ron—” Neville hissed, entering the room properly and holding up the Invisibility Cloak so that they could see him from their side. “Put your wand out—it’s Peeves!”

Harry and Ron’s eyes widened. “ _Nox,_ ” whispered Harry urgently while he and Ron scrambled to get under the Cloak with Neville. 

“ _Nox_ ,” said Neville, looking down at his own wand. 

The wand stayed lit, and Neville’s heart sank. Not _now_. Turning the wand off was supposed to be easier than the other way around. They could hear Peeves’ signature cackle getting closer. He tried again. “ _Nox_!” he said, almost pleading. 

“Give it here,” Harry said, grabbing Neville’s wand. 

Unfortunately, Neville hadn’t expected him to do this and had been in the middle of trying to hide the wand inside his robes. As a result, Harry pulled the wand with a little too much force. Neville, realising what Harry was doing, let go, while Harry, realising what Neville was doing, did the same. Ron, realising they were about to drop the wand, attempted to catch it, but accidentally knocked it against the inside of the Invisibility Cloak and it dropped to the floor, its illuminated end poking out from under the cloak and lighting up the room. Finally, all three of them attempted to bend down and pick it up at the same time, resulting in a scramble of hands that ended with them knocking the wand further away. It rolled treacherously to a stop underneath Quirrell’s desk, glowing like a beacon. 

All three boys froze, horror-struck. The door was still ajar, and there was no way that Peeves wouldn’t see the light coming from it. Would he think it suspicious? It couldn’t be that odd for a teacher to be working late with a light on. Only one thing was certain; if Peeves found three students out of bed, he’d wake up the entire castle just to spite them. 

It was then that the only thing happened that could possibly have complicated things further; Harry slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak and dived under the desk, seizing Neville’s wand and whispering, “ _Nox!_ ”

The wand went out, plunging the room into darkness.

Peeves’ laughter, which was decidedly closer now, came to a stop. “Oooh, what’s this? Quarrelsome Quirinus leaves his door open for old Peevsie? Well, who is Peevsie to refuse an invitation!”

Neville felt a tiny bit of relief—it didn’t seem like he’d heard their mad scramble to hide—but he was also coming into the office and not only was Harry still under the desk, but Neville and Ron were also standing right in front of the door, invisible or otherwise. Ron seemed to be having the same thought; he nudged Neville and they got out of the way just as Peeves floated, grinning, through the doorway.

Neville glanced at where he knew Harry to be, but it was too dark to easily make him out. Could poltergeists see in the dark? 

Peeves was barely visible as he bounced happily around Quirrell’s office knocking things off shelves, seemingly oblivious to their presence. Under the cloak, Neville locked eyes with Ron, who looked utterly mortified, and then back toward the desk. His eyes had adjusted just enough to make out Harry’s outline. All three of them froze when Peeves approached the desk, but it was only to seize a bottle of ink before drifting toward the telescope to pour it down the tube.

If they could just get to where Harry was, he could join them under the cloak and they could escape through the door, which was still open. Neville inclined his head in Harry’s direction, and Ron understood; they took a tentative few steps toward him. 

And then they heard something large and heavy hit the floor somewhere underneath Quirrell’s desk. For a moment, Neville thought that he and Ron had accidentally knocked something off the top, but then he heard Harry gasp, and realised the object had landed right next to where he was sitting.

Like clockwork, Peeves dropped the ink bottle and whirled around. “Aha! What little beasties are hiding in the dark?” he asked, cackling as he floated toward them. “Not precious students, oh no, students aren’t allowed out of bed. Especially in poor Quirrell’s office.”

Neville’s blood ran cold. Any second now, Peeves would glance under the desk and find Harry’s hiding spot, and then it would all be over. It seemed completely hopeless—

At his side, he heard Ron whisper, barely audible, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

Neville realised he was pointing his wand at one of the books on Quirrell’s desk. It hovered a few feet above the surface, and Peeves eyed it suspiciously. “Who’s lurking around invisible?” he asked. “Should call Filch, I should, oh yes. Can’t have invisible lurkers—”

Ron pointed his wand toward the doorway and leaned forward. The book shot out the door, and Peeves clapped his hands together, delighted. “It’s running away!” he cried. “Can’t run from old Peeves, oh no!” 

He chased the book out the door. For a moment, Neville was worried he would pick it up and come back, but he must have assumed that the invisible creature had simply dropped it, because he continued down the hallway bouncing from wall to wall as if hoping he’d accidentally hit whatever it was.

“That was brilliant, Ron,” Neville whispered while they took off the Invisibility Cloak. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron said. “I am _never_ doing this again, that was _mental!_ I can’t believe we thought this was a good idea.”

“Guys,” Harry said, scrambling out from under the desk. “You have to—”

“We need to get out of here in case he comes back,” Neville said. 

“Why’d you gasp before?” Ron asked. “You almost blew our cover.”

“There was something hidden under the desk. Look!” Harry said, getting up and putting something large on the desk. 

The object was dark in colour and hard to make out. Neville had to put the map away and examine it by touch. Whatever it was, it was smooth, round and slightly warm. “What is it?” Neville asked. 

Ron, however, gasped. “No _way._ This can’t be what I think it is!”

“It feels like an egg,” Harry said. “What kind of creature has an egg this size?”

“It’s a dragon egg, I’m sure of it!” Ron said excitedly. 

“What’s Professor Quirrell doing with a dragon egg?” Neville asked. He couldn’t exactly see how _dragons_ were on the curriculum for Defence Against the Dark Arts. 

“No idea,” Ron said. “Dragon breeding’s illegal in Britain. I don’t know how he could even have gotten one, let alone what for.”

“I don’t know about breaking into Gringotts but this definitely proves that Quirrell’s up to _something_ ,” Harry said. “Should we take it with us?”

“We can’t take it with us!” Neville said. “What if it hatches?”

“Dragon eggs won’t hatch unless you incubate them in fire,” said Ron, with the air of somebody who had heard quite a lot about dragons during their formative years. 

“This _has_ to have something to do with the Philosopher’s Stone,” Harry continued with certainty. “I just don’t see how a dragon egg could help him get past Fluffy. Unless—”

Ron and Neville looked at him. “What?” asked Neville.

“I mean, unless we’ve got it all wrong,” Harry said. “Maybe Hagrid’s right, and Quirrell really _is_ just trying to keep the Stone safe. Maybe he’s going to hatch the dragon and use it to protect the Stone like Fluffy is.”

“Wicked,” Ron said. 

“We should put it back where you found it,” Neville urged, and the others muttered in agreement.

Neville shut the door and took out the Marauder’s Map again while Harry and Ron returned the dragon egg to the compartment under Quirrell’s desk. Peeves’ dot had returned to the Grand Staircase and was now halted next to Filch’s several floors above. It was impossible to determine exactly what they were talking about, but from experience, Peeves was probably taunting him. 

“Is anyone else nearby?” asked Harry when he straightened up, noticing Neville looking at the map.

There was still no sign of Quirrell at all, and nobody else was walking around in their general area. Neville breathed a sigh of relief that they may actually get through the night after all.

Neville shook his head. “I think we’re alright.”

“Well, is there anywhere we haven’t looked yet?” asked Harry, looking around the room and approaching the bookshelf. 

“I really think we should just go,” Neville said.

“Yeah, we’re already pushing our luck,” Ron added. “I want to go to bed.”

Harry was in the middle of examining a book from Quirrell’s shelf; at Ron’s words, he looked disappointed. “I know, but we already came all this way,” he said. “If there’s anything else that’s suspicious in this room then we have to find it.”

“Harry, you _just_ said that you thought Quirrell might be protecting the Stone after all!” Ron said. “What do you think we’re going to find?”

Harry floundered, unaccustomed to Ron disagreeing with him. “Well, you two should go then! I only want to make sure we’ve explored every option,” he said defensively, marching over to the door leading into Quirrell’s private chambers and giving it a pull. 

The instant he did so, the room was filled by a deafening, cacophanus scream. Harry released the doorknob with horror (it had not opened), and Neville threw his hands up to cover his ears.

It did little to help. The sound shook his entire body; it was enough to make his head spin. “What the bloody hell is that?” Ron yelled, although they could barely hear him.

Harry came back to his senses fast enough to snatch the Marauder’s Map out of Neville’s hands. “Filch is coming!” he shouted, pointing. “We need to go!”

Neville did not need to be told twice. They bundled under the Invisibility Cloak and ran for their lives. It was hard to do so with all three of them in the dark. Harry turned off his wand light so they couldn’t accidentally drop it again, but it meant they were running without the map’s guidance.

They hardly needed it to know people were coming. They passed Filch on the Grand Staircase, having to duck off to an adjoining corridor to avoid colliding with him, although they heard him muttering, “I knew it, I’ll get them this time—” on the way past.

By the time they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, Neville’s lungs were burning and his feet ached. They could still hear the noise, although it was not as loud as it had been in Quirrell’s office. Most of the paintings in the vicinity had woken up and were chatting excitedly amongst themselves about what had caused the commotion. 

Neville took a moment to wonder whether the Fat Lady would mention the fact that they’d gotten back so late to the teachers, or if they ought to not risk revealing themselves. Before he could make any suggestions, though, Harry and Ron had thrown off the Invisibility Cloak. “Codswallop, codswallop!” Harry said urgently. 

The Fat Lady looked at them with a start. “What are you three doing out so late?” she asked, but swung open to admit them all the same. All three of them hurtled into the common room moments before Gryffindors began to emerge from the staircase in dribs and drabs. 

Harry quickly stowed the Marauder’s Map and the Invisibility Cloak and tried to make it look like they had also just run downstairs upon hearing the noise. He stuck his head back out the portrait hole as if checking to see what was going on. 

Neville thought they couldn’t have been very convincing; they were still breathing heavily from running and were the only ones not wearing pyjamas, but the other students seemed too interested in the source of the noise to notice. 

“Is that a Caterwauling Charm?” asked Percy, striding over to the portrait hole and looking out of it as well. Harry stepped back to admit him and looked at Ron and Neville. “What on earth could have set it off in the middle of the night?”

“Peeves!” said Ron, a little too loudly. “I mean, Peeves? It has to be Peeves.”

Percy looked down at him, frowning, and Neville felt his heart stop, but Percy only turned to speak to another prefect.

Hermione was also one of the students who had come to see what the commotion was about, and she came over as soon as she spotted them. “A Caterwauling Charm at this hour, really!” she said. “I wonder what happened.”

Harry, Ron and Neville looked at each other sheepishly. “Er,” said Ron.

This response instantly made Hermione suspicious, and she narrowed her eyes, taking in their disheveled appearances and the fact that they were still wearing their school robes. “Wait, what have you three been doing?”

“We were just—” stuttered Neville. 

“That is—” Ron mumbled.

To make matters worse, Dean and Seamus had just emerged from the stairs to their dorm. “Hey guys, you didn’t see what happened, did you?” asked Seamus, and Neville cringed. The last thing they needed was for them to start spreading it around that they hadn’t been in their dormitory when the Charm went off. 

Hermione, noticing Neville’s panicked expression, swooped in to their defence. “No, sorry. We were just studying,” she said apologetically. Dean and Seamus shrugged and joined the crowd gathering at the portrait hole, but Hermione turned back to them with a look of absolute daggers. 

“Hermione, you won’t believe what happened,” Harry whispered excitedly. 

* * *

They found a little nook in the common room where they could talk privately. It didn’t look too out of place; a lot of students had started chatting about the disturbance, not quite ready to go back to bed. 

Hermione listened to them recount everything from the beginning, starting with Fred and George giving them the Marauder’s Map at the start of term. She was very hard to read, her mouth a thin line and her eyebrows furrowed for the whole sorry tale. When they got to their entering of Quirrell’s office, she huffed. 

“I can’t believe you did all this without telling me!” she said, not sounding hurt so much as annoyed. 

“We—well—” Ron began nervously.

“We knew you didn’t think it was a good idea,” Harry tried to explain. 

“Right,” Ron said. “And we thought if we told you, you’d have felt like you needed to turn us in.”

Hermione glared at him. “I have half a mind to turn you in right now,” she huffed. “But I still wish you’d trusted me—”

“Hermione, we know you wouldn’t have actually done it,” Harry reassured her, “but we just thought, this way you didn’t have to choose—”

“Well, that was very chivalrous of you,” Hermione said. “If I’d known you were going anyway, I at least could have helped. I can’t believe you dragged poor Neville along!”

“Hey,” said Neville, who had been mostly silent up until now but at this felt that he needed to defend himself. “I asked to go.”

“None of that matters now,” said Harry impatiently. “What we’re saying is that we actually did find something in his desk, and you’ll never believe what it was. A dragon egg!”

Hermione stared at him, and then at Neville, as if expecting him to tell her Harry was joking. “A dragon egg?” she repeated, disbelief written all over her face. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Ron said. 

“You’re _sure_ it was a dragon egg?” Hermione asked dubiously. “Just having one would be _very_ illegal.”

“I’m sure,” Ron repeated with certainty. “It was about a foot long. What other egg could it have been?”

“Nothing that’s less illegal than a dragon,” said Hermione thoughtfully.

“Anyway,” Ron said, “after we found it, Harry tried to go into Quirrell’s room and set off the Screaming Charm.”

Harry glared at him, but he had the good grace to look embarrassed. “At least nobody knows it was us,” he said. “Filch will probably just think Peeves did it.”

“No he won’t,” Neville said. “Filch was talking to Peeves when the spell went off. I saw them on the Map.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Well. I mean. Nobody knows it was _us_ ,” he repeated, although he looked considerably more concerned now.

“If I can just circle back to the _dragon_ ,” Hermione said, exasperated, “I don’t suppose you found anything with the egg that would explain what it was for?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “It was in a compartment under his desk—I found it by accident when I was hiding from Peeves. We think he might be planning on hatching it and using it to protect the Philosopher’s Stone!”

Hermione looked skeptical. “I can see Dumbledore looking past Fluffy—he belongs to Hagrid, and Hagrid knows how to control him—but a dragon? In Hogwarts?”

“It’ll just be a _little_ dragon,” Ron pointed out. 

“Not for long,” replied Hermione. “We _need_ to tell Dumbledore about this.”

“No way,” Ron said. “We’d need to tell him how we know and you heard what happened tonight. If anyone finds out it was us that broke into Quirrell’s office we’ll be expelled for sure!”

“So what do you propose we do?” Hermione asked sternly. “Nothing?”

“Hagrid?” Neville suggested lamely. “Do you think he’d turn us in?”

“He did warn us to stop meddling,” said Harry. “But—I mean—he does know more than we do about how the Stone’s being guarded. Maybe we could just...hint at it. See what he says?”

It was at this point that Professor McGonagall arrived in the entrance to the common room in her nightdress, informing them that the source of the noise had been dealt with and would not bother them again, now would they all get back to bed for goodness sake. They reluctantly returned to their respective dormitories.

When Neville finally crawled into bed, he was still wide awake. His heart was pounding quite considerably from the events of the day that were still turning over in his mind. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, he had been hanging out in the Great Hall hearing about Justin’s Walkman. He tried not to think about Professor Quirrell, returning to his office to find that it had been broken into. Would he realise what they were looking for? Would he know they’d found the dragon egg?

They probably should have expected him to put more defences on his personal quarters than just locking them, considering how paranoid he was after his year abroad. Frankly, it was a miracle they’d managed to get into his office at all. 

Neville rolled onto his side, staring at the silhouette of the Venus fly trap on his bedside table. His scar had not hurt while they were checking out the office, nor had they found anything that explained why it had the first two times. Had he expected it to? 

By now, enough time had passed that he could almost convince himself that he’d imagined it. The only real evidence they had against Professor Quirrell was that he had been in Diagon Alley on the day of the Gringotts break-in and that he had gone to the third-floor on Halloween, both of which Hagrid already knew and did not seem to think much of. The dragon egg was odd, but it didn’t exactly suggest he was planning a robbery. He had only ever known Quirrell to be a slightly nervous man who hadn’t turned him in the one time he saw Neville out of bounds. Was investigating him really worth nearly getting expelled over? After Neville had spent so long wondering if he’d be able to go to Hogwarts at all?

Neville closed his eyes, resolving not to get involved any further—regardless of what Harry and the others decided to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading - all comments and kudos are greatly appreciated


End file.
